MISTRESS    AND    MAID 


2V  $on0d)olb  Storg. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR 'Of 


•JOHN  HALIFAX,  GENTLEMAN,"   "THE  WOMAN'S   KINGDOM, 

"HANNAH,"   "A  BRAVE  LADY,"    "THE  OGILV1ES," 

"OLIVE,"  "AGATHA'S  HUSBAND,"  &c. 


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MISTRESS  AND   MAID, 


CHAPTER  I. 

SHE  was  a  rather  tall,  awkward,  and  strongly-built  girl 
of  about  fifteen.  This  was  the  first  impression  the  "  maid" 
gave  to  her  "  mistresses,"  the  Misses  Leaf,  when  she  enter- 
ed their  kitchen  accompanied  by  her  mother,  a  widow  and 
washerwoman,  by  name  Mrs.  Hand.  I  must  confess,  when 
they  saw  the  damsel,  the  ladies  felt  a  certain  twinge  of 
doubt  as  to  whether  they  had  not  been  rash  in  offering  to 
take  her;  whether  it  would  not  have  been  wiser  to  have 
gone  on  in  their  old  way — now,  alas !  grown  into  a  very 
old  way,  so  as  almost  to  make  them  forget  they  had  ever 
had  any  other — and  done  without  a  servant  still. 

Many  consultations  had  the  three  sisters  held  before 
such  a  revolutionary  extravagance  was  determined  on. 
But  Miss  Leaf  was  beginning  both  to  look  and  to  feel  "  not 
so  young  as  she  had  been ;"  Miss  Selina  ditto ;  though, 
being  still  under  forty,  she  would  not  have  acknowledged 
it  for  the  world.  And  Miss  Hilary,  young,  bright  and  ac- 
tive as  she  was,  could  by  no  possibility  do  every  thing  that 
was  to  be  done  in  the  little  establishment ;  be,  for  instance, 
in  three  places  at  once — in  the  school-room  teaching  little 
boys  and  girls,  in  the  kitchen  cooking  dinner,  and  in  the 
rooms  up  stairs  busy  at  house-maid's  work.  Besides,  much 
of  her  time  was  spent  in  waiting  upon  "poor  Selina,"  who 
frequently  ^as,  or  fancied  herself,  too  ill  to  take  any  part 
in  either  the  school  or  house  duties. 

Though,  the  thing  being  inevitable,  she  said  little  about 

961727 


6  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

it,  Miss  Leaf's  heart  was  uften  sore  to  see  Hilary's  pretty 
hands  smeared  with  blacking  of  grates,  and  roughened  with 
scouring  of  floors.  To  herself  this  sort  of  thing  had  be- 
come natural — but  Hilary  ! 

All  the  time  of  Hilary's  childhood  the  youngest  of  the 
family  had,  of  course,  been  spared  all  house-work ;  and  aft- 
erward her  studies  had  left  no  time  for  it.  For  she  was 
a  clever  girl,  with  a  genuine  love  of  knowledge ;  Latin, 
Greek,  and  even  the  higher  branches  of  arithmetic  and 
mathematics,  were  not  beyond  her  range ;  and  this  she 
found  much  more  interesting  than  washing  dishes  or  sweep- 
ing floors.  True,  she  always  did  whatever  domestic  duty 
she  was  told  to  do ;  but  her  bent  was  not  in  the  household 
line.  She  had  only  lately  learned  to  "  see  dust,"  to  make 
a  pudding,  to  iron  a  shirt ;  and,  moreover,  to  reflect,  as  she 
woke  up  to  the  knowledge  of  how  these  things  should  be 
done,  and  how  necessary  they  were,  what  must  have  been 
her  eldest  sister's  lot  during  all  these  twenty  years  !  What 
pains,  what  weariness,  what  eternal  toil  must  Johanna  have 
silently  endured  in  order  to  do  all  those  things  which  till 
now  had  seemed  to  do  themselves  ! 

Therefore,  after  much  cogitation  as  to  the  best  and  most 
prudent  way  to  amend  matters,  and  perceiving  with  her 
clear  common-sense  that,  willing  as  she  might  be  to  work 
in  the  kitchen,  her  own  time  would  be  much  more  valua- 
bly spent  in  teaching  their  growing  school,  it  was  Hilary 
who,  these  Christmas  holidays,  first  started  the  bold  idea, 
"  We  must  have  a  servant ;"  and  therefore,  it  being  neces- 
sary to  begin  with  a  very  small  servant  on  very  low  wages 
(£3  per  annum  was,  I  fear,  the  maximum),  did  they  take 
this  Elizabeth  Hand. 

So,  hanging  behind  her  parent,  an  anxious-eyed  and  rath- 
er sad-voiced  woman,  did  Elizabeth  enter  the  kitchen  of  the 
Misses  Leaf. 

The  ladies  were  all  there.  Johanna  arranging  the  table 
for  their  early  tea ;  Selina  lying  on  the  sofa  trying  to  cut 
bread  and  butter ;  Hilary  on  her  knees  before  the  fire, 
making  the  bit  of  toast — her  eldest  sister's  one  luxury. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  7 

This  was  the  picture  that  her  three  mistresses  presented 
to  Elizabeth's  eyes ;  which,  though  they  seemed  to  notice 
nothing,  must  in  reality  have  noticed  every  thing. 

"I've  brought  my  daughter,  ma'am,  as  you  sent  word 
you'd  take  on  trial,"  said  Mrs.  Hand,  addressing  herself  to 
Selina,  who,  as  the  tallest,  the  best  dressed,  and  the  most 
imposing,  was  usually  regarded  by  strangers  as  the  head 
of  the  family. 

"  Oh,  Johanna,  my  dear." 

Miss  Leaf  came  forward,  rather  uncertainly,  for  she  was 
of^a  shy  nature,  and  had  been  so  long  accustomed  to  do 
the  servant's  work  of  the  household  that  she  felt  quite' 
awkward  in  the  character  of  mistress.  Instinctively  she 
hid  her  poor  hands,  that  would  at  once  have  betrayed  her 
to  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  working-woman,  and  then,  ashamed 
of  her  momentary  false  pride,  laid  them  outside  her  apron 
and  sat  down. 

"  Will  you  take  a  chair,  Mrs.  Hand  ?  My  sister  told  you, 
I  believe,  all  our  requirements.  We  only  want  a  good,  in- 
telligent girl.  We  are  willing  to  teach  her  every  thing." 

"  Thank  you,  kindly ;  and  I  be  willing  and  glad  for  her 
to  learn,  ma'am,"  replied  the  mother,  her  sharp  and  rather 
free  tone  subdued  in  spite  of  herself  by  the  gentle  voice  of 
Miss  Leaf.  Of  course,  living  in  the  same  country  town, 
she  knew  all  about  the  three  school-mistresses,  and  how  till 
now  they  had  kept  no  servant.  "It's  her  first  place,  and 
her'll  be  awk'ard  at  first,  most  like.  Hold  up  your  head, 
Lizabeth." 

"  Is  her  name  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  Far  too  long  and  too  fine,"  observed  Selina  from  the 
sofa.  "  Call  her  Betty." 

"Any  thing  you  please,  miss;  but  I  call  her  Lizabeth. 
It  wor  my  young  missis's  name  in  my  first  place,  and  I 
never  had  a  second." 

"  We  will  call  her  Elizabeth,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  with  the 
gentle  decision  she  could  use  on  occasion. 

There  was  a  little  more  discussion  between  the  mother 
and  the  future  mistress  as  to  holidays,  Sundays,  and  so  on, 


8  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

during  which  time  the  new  servant  stood  silent  and  im- 
passive in  the  door-way  between  the  back  kitchen  and  the 
kitchen,  or,  as  it  is  called  in  those  regions,  the  house-place. 

As  before  said,  Elizabeth  was  by  no  means  a  personable 
girl,  and  her  clothes  did  not  set  her  off  to  advantage.  Her 
cotton  frock  hung  in  straight  lines  down  to  her  ankles, 
displaying  her  clumsily  shod  feet  and  woolen  stockings; 
above  it  was  a  pinafore — a  regular  child's  pinafore,  of  the  , 
cheap,  strong,  blue-speckled  print  which  in  those  days  was 
generally  worn.  A  little  shabby  shawl,  pinned  at  the 
throat,  and  pinned  very  carelessly  and  crookedly,  with  an 
old  black  bonnet  much  too  small  for  her  large  head  and 
her  quantities  of  ill-kept  hair,  completed  the  costume.  It 
did  not  impress  favorably  a  lady  who,  being,  or  rather 
having  been,  very  handsome  herself,  was  as  much  alive  to 
appearances  as  the  second  Miss  Leaf. 

She  made  several  rather  depreciatory  observations,  and 
insisted  strongly  that  the  new  servant  should  only  be 
taken  "  on  trial,"  with  no  obligation  to  keep  her  a  day  lon- 
ger than  they  wished.  Pier  feeling  on  the  matter  commu- 
nicated itself  to  Johanna,  who  closed  the  negotiation  with 
Mrs.  Hand  by  saying, 

"  Well,  let  us  hope  your  daughter  will  suit  us.  We  will 
give  her  a  fair  chance,  at  all  events." 

"  Which  is  all  I  can  ax  for,  Miss  Leaf.  Her  bean't  much 
to  look  at,  but  her's  willin'  and  sharp,  and  her's  never  told 
me  a  lie  in  her  life.  Courtesy  to  thy  missis,  and  say  thee'lt 
do  thy  best,  Lizabeth." 

Pulled  forward,  Elizabeth  did  courtesy,  but  she  never 
offered  to  speak.  And  Miss  Leaf,  feeling  that  for  all  par- 
ties the  interview  had  better  be  shortened,  rose  from  her 
chair. 

Mrs.  Hand  took  the  hint  and  departed,  saying  only 
"  Good-by,  Elizabeth,"  with  a  nod  half  encouraging,  half 
admonitory,  which  Elizabeth  silently  returned.  That  was 
all  the  parting  between  mother  and  daughter ;  they  nei- 
ther kissed  nor  shook  hands,  which  undemonstrative  fare- 
well somewhat  surprised  Hilary. 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  9 

Now  Miss  Hilary  Leaf  had  all  this  while  gone  on  toast* 
ing.  Luckily  for  her  bread,  the  fire  was  low  and  black : 
meantime,  from  behind  her  long  drooping  curls  (which  Jo- 
hanna would  not  let  her  "  turn  up,"  though  she  was  twen- 
ty), she  was  making  her  observations  on  the  new  servant. 
It  might  be  that,  possessing  more  head  than  the  one  and 
more  heart  than  the  other,  Hilary  was  gifted  with  deeper 
perception  of  character  than  either  of  her  sisters,  but  cer- 
tainly her  expression,  as  she  watched  Elizabeth,  was  rather 
amused  and  kindly  than  dissatisfied. 

"Now,  girl,  take  off  your  bonnet,"  said  Selina,  to  whom 
Johanna  had  silently  appealed  in  her  perplexity  as  to  the 
next  proceeding  with  regard  to  the  new  member  of  the 
household. 

Elizabeth  obeyed,  and  then  stood,  irresolute,  awkward, 
and  wretched  to  the  last  degree,  at  the  farthest  end  of  the 
house-place. 

"  Shall  I  show  you  where  to  hang  up  your  things  ?"  said 
Hilary,  speaking  for  the  first  time ;  and  at  the  new  voice, 
so  quick,  cheerful,  and  pleasant,  Elizabeth  visibly  started. 

Miss  Hilary  rose  from  her  knees,  crossed  the  kitchen, 
took  from  the  girl's  unresisting  hands  the  old  black  bon- 
net and  shawl,  and  hung  them  up  carefully  on  a  nail  be- 
hind the  great  eight-day  clock.  It  was  a  simple  action, 
done  quite  without  intention,  and  accepted  without  ac- 
knowledgment, except  one  quick  glance  of  that  keen  yet 
soft  gray  eye  ;  but  years  and  years  after  Elizabeth  remind- 
ed Hilary  of  it. 

And  now  Elizabeth  stood  forth  in  her  own  proper  like- 
ness, unconcealed  by  bonnet  or  shawl,  or  maternal  protec- 
tion. The  pinafore  scarcely  covered  her  gaunt  neck  and 
long  arms  :  that  tremendous  head  of  rough,  dusky  hair 
was  evidently  for  the  first  time  gathered  into  a  comb. 
Thence  elf-locks  escaped  in  all  directions,  and  were  forever 
being  pushed  behind  her  ears,  or  rubbed  (not  smoothed ; 
there  was  nothing  smooth  about  her)  back  from  her  fore- 
head, which,  Hilary  noticed,  was  low,  broad,  and  full.  The 
rest  of  her  face,  except  the  before-mentioned  eyes,  was  abso- 

A2 


10  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

lutely  and  undeniably  plain.  Her  figure,  so  far  as  tbe  pin- 
afore  exhibited  it,  was  undeveloped  and  ungainly,  the  chest 
being  contracted  and  the  shoulders  rounded,  as  if  with  car- 
rying children  or  other  weights  while  still  a  growing  girl. 
In  fact,  nature  and  circumstances  had  apparently  united  in 
dealing  unkindly  with  Elizabeth  Hand. 

Still  here  she  was ;  and  what  was  to  be  done  with  her? 

Having  sent  her  with  the  small  burden,  which  was  ap- 
parently all  her  luggage,  to  the  little  room — formerly  a 
box-closet — where  she  was  to  sleep,  the  Misses  Leaf — or,  as 
facetious  neighbors  called  them,  the  Miss  Leaves — took  se- 
rious counsel  together  over  their  tea. 

Tea  itself  suggested  the  first  difficulty.  They  were  al- 
ways in  the  habit  of  taking  that  meal,  and,  indeed,  every 
other,  in  the  kitchen.  It  saved  time,  trouble,  and  fire,  be- 
sides leaving  the  parlor  always  tidy  for  callers,  chiefly  pu- 
pils' parents,  and  preventing  these  latter  from  discovering 
that  the  three  orphan  daughters  of  Henry  Leaf,  Esq.,  so- 
licitor, and  sisters  of  Henry  Leaf,  Junior,  Esq.,  also  solicit- 
or, but  whose  sole  mission  in  life  seemed  to  have  been  to 
spend  every  thing,  make  every  body  miserable,  marry,  and 
die,  that  these  three  ladies  did  always  wait  upon  them-, 
selves  at  meal-times,  and  did  sometimes  breakfast  without 
butter,  and  dine  without  meat.  Now  this  system  would 
not  do  any  longer. 

"  Besides,  there  is  no  need  for  it,"  said  Hilary,  cheerfully. 
"I  am  sure  we  can  well  afford  both  to  keep  and  to  feed  a 
servant,  and  to  have  a  fire  in  the  parlor  every  day.  Why 
not  take  our  meals  there,  and  sit  there  regularly  of  even- 
ings ?" 

"  We  must,"  added  Selina,  decidedly.  "  For  my  part,  I 
couldn't  eat,  or  sew,  or  do  any  thing  with  that  great  hulk- 
ing girl  sitting  staring  opposite,  or  standing ;  for  how  could 
we  ask  her  to  sit  with  us  ?  Already,  what  must  she  have 
thought  of  us — people  who  take  tea  in  the  kitchen?" 

"I  do  not  think  that  matters,"  said  the  eldest  sister, 
gently,  after  a  moment's  silence.  "Every  body  in  the 
town  knows  who  and  what  we  are,  or  might  if  they  chose 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  11 

to  inquire.  We  can  not  conceal  our  poverty  if  we  tried ; 
and  I  don't  think  any  body  looks  down  upon  us  for  it. 
Not  even  since  we  began  to  keep  school,  which  you  thought 
was  such  a  terrible  thing,  Selina." 

"  And  it  was.  I  have  never  reconciled  myself  to  teach 
ing  the  baker's  two  boys  and  the  grocer's  little  girl.  You 
were  wrong,  Jojianna;  you  ought  to  have  drawn  the  line 
somewhere,  and  it  ought  to  have  excluded  trades-people." 

"  Beggars  can  not  be  choosers,"  began  Hilary. 

"  Beggars  !"  echoed  Selina. 

"  No,  my  dear,  we  never  were  that,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  in- 
terposing against  one  of  the  sudden  storms  that  were  often 
breaking  out  between  these  two.  "You  know  well  we 
have  never  begged  nor  borrowed  from  any  body,  and  hard- 
ly ever  been  indebted  to  any  body,  except  for  the  extra 
lessons  that  Mr.  Lyon  would  insist  upon  giving  to  Ascott 
at  home." 

Here  Johanna  suddenly  stopped,  and  Hilary,  with  a  slight 
color  rising  in  her  face,  said, 

"  I  think,  sisters,  we  are  forgetting  that  the  staircase  is 
quite  open,  and  though  I  am  sure  she  has  an  honest  look, 
and  not  that  of  a  listener,  still  Elizabeth  might  hear.  Shall 
I  call  her  down  stairs,  and  tell  her  to  light  a  fire  in  the  par- 
lor?" 

While  she  is  doing  it — and  in  spite  of  Selina's  forebod- 
ings to  the  contrary,  the  small  maiden  did  it  quickly  and 
well,  especially  after  a  hint  or  two  from  Hilary — let  me 
take  the  opportunity  of  making  a  little  picture  of  this  same 
Hilary. 

Little  it  should  be,  for  she  was  a  decidedly  little  woman ; 
small  altogether,  hands,  feet,  and  figure  being  in  satisfac- 
tory proportion.  Her  movements,  like  those  of  most  little 
women,  were  light  and  quick  rather  than  elegant ;  yet  ev- 
ery thing  she  did  was  done  with  a  neatness  and  delicacy 
which  gave  an  involuntary  sense  of  grace  and  harmony. 
She  was,  in  brief,  one  of  those  people  who  are  best  de- 
scribed by  the  word  "  harmonious ;"  people  who  never  set 
your  teeth  on  edge,  or  rub  you  up  the  wrong  way,  as  very 


12  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

excellent  people  occasionally  do.  Yet  she  was  not  over* 
meek  or  unpleasantly  amiable;  there  was  a  liveliness  and 
even  briskness  about  her,  as  if  the  every-day  wine  of  her 
life  had  a  spice  of  Champagniness,  not  frothiness,  but  nat- 
ural effervescence  of  spirit,  meant  to  "  cheer  but  not  ine- 
briate" a  household. 

And  in  her  own  household  this  gift  was  most  displayed. 
No  centre  <jf  a  brilliant,  admiring  circle  could  be  more 
charming,  more  witty,  more  irresistibly  amusing  than  was 
Hilary  sitting  by  the  kitchen  fireside,  with  the  cat  on  her 
knee,  between  her  two  sisters,  and  the  school-boy  Ascott 
Leaf,  their  nephew — which  four  individuals,  the  cat  being 
not  the  least  important  of  them,  constituted  the  family. 

In  the  family  Hilary  shone  supreme.  All  recognized  her 
as  the  light  of  the  house,  and  so  she  had  been  ever  since 
she  was  born,  ever  since  her 

"  Dying  mother  mild, 
Said,  with  accents  undefiled, 
'Child,  be  mother  to  this  child.'  " 

It  was  said  to  Johanna  Leaf —  who  was  not  Mrs.  Leaf's 
own  child.  But  the  good  step-mother,  who  had  once  taken 
the  little  motherless  girl  to  her  bosom,  and  never  since 
made  the  slightest  difference  between  her  and  her  own 
children,  knew  well  whom  she  was  trusting. 

From  that  solemn  hour,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  when 
she  lifted  the  hour-old  baby  out  of  its  dead  mother's  bed 
into  her  own,  it  became  Johanna's  one  object  in  life. 
Through  a  sickly  infancy,  for  it  was  a  child  born  amidst 
trouble,  her  sole  hands  washed,  dressed,  fed  it:  night  and 
day  it  "  lay  in  her  bosom,  and  was  unto  her  as  a  daugh- 
ter." 

She  was  then  just  thirty ;  not  too  old  to  look  forward  to 
woman's  natural  destiny,  a  husband  and  children  of  her 
own.  But  years  slipped  by,  and  she  was  Miss  Leaf  still. 
What  matter  !  Hilary  was  her  daughter. 

Johanna's  pride  in  her  knew  no  bounds.  Not  that  she 
showed  it  much  :  indeed,  she  deemed  it  a  sacred  duty  not 
to  show  it,  but  to  make  believe  her  "  child"  was  just  like 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  13 

other  children.  But  she  was  not.  Nobody  ever  thought 
she  was — even  in  externals.  Fate  gave  her  all  those  gifts 
which  are  sometimes  sent  to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  world- 
ly prosperity.  Her  brown  eyes  were  as  soft  as  doves'  eyes. 
yet  could  dance  with  fun  and  mischief  if  they  chose;  her 
hair,  brown  also,  with  a  dark  red  shade  in  it,  crisped  itself 
in  two  wavy  lines  over  her  forehead,  and  then  tumbled 
down  in  two  glorious  masses,  which  Johanna,  ignorant, 
alas  !  of  art,  called  "  very  untidy,"  and  labored  in  vain  to 
quell  under  combs,  or  to  arrange  in  proper,  regular  curls. 
Her  features — well,  they  too  were  good ;  better  than  these 
unartistic  people  had  any  idea  of— better  even  than  Sell- 
na's,  who  in  her  youth  had  been  the  belle  of  the  town.  But, 
whether  artistically  correct  or  not,  Johanna,  though  she 
would  on  no  account  have  acknowledged  it,  believed  sol- 
emnly that  there  was  not  such  a  face  in  the  world  as  little 
Hilary's. 

Possibly  a  similar  idea  dawned  on  the  apparently  dull 
mind  of  Elizabeth  Hand,  for  she  watched  her  youngest  mis- 
tress intently,  from  kitchen  to  parlor,  and  from  parlor  back 
to  kitchen  ;  and  once,  when  Miss  Hilary  stood  giving  infor- 
mation as  to  the  proper  abode  of  broom,  bellows,  etc.,  the 
little  maid  gazed  at  her  with  such  admiring  observation 
that  the  scuttle  she  carried  was  tilted,  and  the  coals  were 
strewn  all  over  the  kitchen  floor.  At  which  catastrophe 
Miss  Leaf  looked  miserable,  Miss  Selina  spoke  crossly,  and 
Ascott,  who  just  then  came  into  his  tea,  late  as  usual,  burst 
into  a  shout  of  laughter. 

It  was  as  much  as  Hilary  could  do  to  help  laughing  her- 
self, she  being  too  near  her  nephew's  own  age  always  to 
maintain  a  dignified,  aunt-like  attitude ;  but  nevertheless, 
when,  having  disposed  of  her  sisters  in  the  parlor,  she 
coaxed  Ascott  into  the  school-room,  and  insisted  upon  his 
Latin  being  done — she  helping  him,  Aunt  Hilary  scolded 
him  well,  and  bound  him  over  to  keep  the  peace  toward 
the  new  servant. 

"  But  she  is  such  a  queer  one.  Exactly  like  a  South-Sea 
Islander.  When  she  stood  with  her  grim,  stolid,  despair 


14  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

ing  countenance,  contemplating  the  coals  —  oh,  Aunt  Hi- 
lary, how  killing  she  was !" 

And  the  regular,  rollicking,  irresistible  boy-laugh  broke 
out  again. 

"She  will  be  great  fun.     Is  she  really  to  stay?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Hilary,  trying  to  be  grave.  "  I  hope 
never  again  to  see  Aunt  Johanna  cleaning  the  stairs,  and 
getting  up  to  light  the  kitchen  fire  of  winter  mornings,  as 
she  will  do  if  we  have  not  a  servant  to  do  it  for  her.  Don't 
you  see,  Ascott  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  answered  the  boy,  carelessly.  "  But  don't 
bother  me,  please.  Domestic  aifairs  are  for  women,  not 
men."  Ascott  was  eighteen,  and  just  about  to  pass  out  of 
his  caterpillar  state  as  a  doctor's  apprentice-lad  into  the 
chrysalis  condition  of  a  medical  student  in  London.  "But," 
with  sudden  reflection, "  I  hope  she  won't  be  in  my  way. 
Don't  let  her  meddle  with  any  of  my  books  and  things." 

"  No  ;  you  need  not  be  afraid.  I  have  put  them  all  into 
your  room.  I  myself  cleared  your  rubbish  out  of  the  box- 
closet—" 

"  The  box-closet !     Now,  really,  I  can't  stand — " 

"  She  is  to  sleep  in  the  box-closet ;  where  else  could  she 
sleep?"  said  Hilary,  resolutely,  though  inwardly  quaking  a 
little ;  for  somehow  the  merry,  handsome,  rather  exacting 
lad  had  acquired  considerable  influence  in  this  household 
of  women.  "You  must  put  up  with  the  loss  of  your  'den,' 
Ascott :  it  would  be  a  great  shame  if  you  did  not,  for  the 
sake  of  Aunt  Johanna  and  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Um !"  grumbled  the  boy,  who,  though  he  was  not  a 
bad  fellow  at  heart,  had  a  boy's  dislike  to  "  putting  up" 
with  the  slightest  inconvenience.  "  Well,  it  won't  last 
long.  I  shall  be  off  shortly.  What  a  jolly  life  I'll  have  in 
London,  Aunt  Hilary  !  I'll  see  Mr.  Lyon  there  too." 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Hilary,  briefly,  returning  to  Dido  and 
^Eneas;  humble  and  easy  Latinity  for  a  student  of  eighteen  ; 
but  Ascott  was  not  a  brilliant  boy,  and,  being  apprenticed 
early,  his  education  had  been  much  neglected,  till  Mr.  Lyon 
came  as  usher  to  the  Stowbury  Grammar-school,  and  hap« 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  15 

pening  to  meet  and  take  an  interest  in  him,  taught  him  and 
his  Aunt  Hilary  Latin,  Greek,  and  mathematics  together, 
of  evenings. 

I  shall  make  no  mysteries  here.  Human  nature  is  hu- 
man nature  all  the  world  over.  A  tale  without  love  in  it 
would  be  unnatural,  unreal — in  fact,  a  simple  lie ;  for  there 
are  no  histories  and  no  lives  without  love  in  them ;  if  there 
could  be,  Heaven  pity  and  pardon  them,  for  they  would  be 
mere  abortions  of  humanity. 

Thank  Heaven,  we,  most  of  us,  do  not  philosophize  :  we 
only  live.  We  like  one  another,  we  hardly  know  why ; 
we  love  one  another,  we  still  less  know  why.  If  on  the 
day  she  first  saw — in  church  it  was — Mr.  Lyon's  grave, 
heavy-browed,  somewhat  severe  face — for  he  was  a  Scots- 
man, and  his  sharp,  strong  Scotch  features  did  look  "  hard" 
beside  the  soft,  rosy,  well-conditioned  Saxon  youth  of  Stow- 
bury — if  on  that  Sunday  any  one  had  told  Hilary  Leaf  that 
the  face  of  this  stranger  was  to  be  the  one  face  of  her  life, 
stamped  upon  brain,  and  heart,  and  soul  with  a  vividness 
that  no  other  impressions  were  strong  enough  to  efface, 
and  retained  there  with  a  tenacity  that  no  vicissitudes  of 
time,  or  place,  or  fortunes  had  power  to  alter,  Hilary  would 
—yes,  I  think  she  would — have  quietly  kept  looking  on. 
She  would  have  accepted  her  lot,  such  as  it  was,  with  its 
shine  and  shade,  its  joy  and  its  anguish :  it  came  to  her 
without  her  seeking,  as  most  of  the  solemn  things  in  life 
do ;  and,  whatever  it  brought  with  it,  it  could  have  come 
from  no  other  source  than  that  from  which  all  high,  and 
holy,  and  pure  loves  ever  must  come — the  will  and  permis- 
sion of  GOD. 

Mr.  Lyon  himself  requires  no  long  description.  In  his 
first  visit  he  had  told  Miss  Leaf  all  about  himself  that  there 
was  to  be  known  ;  that  he  was,  as  they  were,  a  poor  teach- 
er, who  had  altogether  "  made  himself,"  as  so  many  Scotch 
students  do.  His  father,  whom  he  scarcely  remembered, 
had  been  a  small  Ayrshire  farmer;  his  mother  was  dead, 
and  he  had  never  had  either  brother  or  sister. 

Seeing  how  clever  Miss  Hilary  was,  and  how  much  as  a 


16  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

school-mistress  she  would  need  all  the  education  she  could 
get,  he  had  offered  to  teach  her  along  with  her  nephew ; 
and  she  and  Johanna  were  only  too  thankful  for  the  advan- 
tage. But  during  the  teaching  he  had  also  taught  her  an- 
other thing,  which  neither  had  contemplated  at  the  time — 
to  respect  him  with  her  whole  soul,  and  to  love  him  with 
her  whole  heart. 

Over  this  simple  fact  let  no  more  be  now  said.  Hilary 
said  nothing.  She  recognized  it  herself  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone ;  a  plain,  sad,  solemn  truth,  which  there  was  no  de- 
ceiving herself  did  not  exist,  even  had  she  wished  its  non- 
existence.  Perhaps  Johanna  also  found  it  out  in  her  dar- 
ling's extreme  paleness  and  unusual  quietness  for  a  while ; 
but  she,  too,  said  nothing.  Mr.  Lyon  wrote  regularly  to 
Ascott,  and  once  or  twice  to  her,  Miss  Leaf;  but,  though 
every  one  knew  that  Hilary  was  his  particular  friend  in  the 
whole  family,  he  did  not  write  to  Hilary.  He  had  depart- 
ed rather  suddenly,  on  account  of  some  plan  which,  he 
said,  affected  his  future  very  considerably,  but  which, 
though  he  was  in  the  habit  of  telling  them  his  affairs,  he 
did  not  further  explain.  Still  Johanna  knew  he  was  a 
good  man,  and,  though  no  man  could  be  quite  good  enough 
for  her  darling,  she  liked  him,  she  trusted  him. 

What  Hilary  felt  none  knew.  But  she  was  very  girlish 
in  some  things ;  and  her  life  was  all  before  her,  full  of  infi- 
nite hope.  By-and-by  her  color  returned,  and  her  merry 
voice  and  laugh  were  heard  about  the  house  just  as  usual. 

This  being  the  position  of  affairs,  it  was  not  surprising 
that  after  Ascott's  last  speech  Hilary's  mind  wandered 
from  Dido  and  JEneas  to  vague  listening,  as  the  lad  began 
talking  of  his  grand  future — the  future  of  a  medical  stu- 
dent, all  expenses  being  paid  by  his  godfather,  Mr.  Ascott, 
the  merchant,  of  Russell  Square,  once  a  shop-boy  of  Stow- 
bury.  Nor  was  it  unnatural  that  all  Ascott's  anticipations 
of  London  resolved  themselves,  in  his  aunt's  eyes,  into  the 
one  fact  that  he  would  "  see  Mr.  Lyon." 

But  in  telling  thus  much  about  her  mistresses,  I  have  foi 
the  time  being  lost  sight  of  Elizabeth  Hand. 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  17 

Left  to  herself,  the  girl  stood  for  a  minute  or  two  look- 
ing around  her  in  a  confused  manner;  then,  rousing  her  fac- 
ulties,  began  mechanically  to  obey  the  order  with  which 
her  mistress  had  quitted  the  kitchen,  and  to  wash  up  the 
tea-things.  She  did  it  in  a  fashion  that,  if  seen,  would  have 
made  Miss  Leaf  thankful  the  ware  was  only  the  common 
set,  and  not  the  cherished  china  belonging  to  former  days : 
still  she  did  it,  noisily  it  is  true,  but  actively,  as  if  her 
heart  were  in  the  work.  Then  she  took  a  candle  and  peer- 
ed about  her  new  domains. 

These  were  small  enough,  at  least  they  would  have  seem- 
ed so  to  other  eyes  than  Elizabeth's ;  for,  until  the  school- 
room and  box-closet  above  had  been  kindly  added  by  the 
landlord,  who  would  have  done  any  thing  to  show  his  re- 
spect for  the  Misses  Leaf,  it  had  been  merely  a  six-roomed 
cottage  —  parlor,  kitchen,  back  kitchen,  and  three  upper 
chambers.  It  was  a  very  cozy  house  notwithstanding,  and 
it  seemed  to  Elizabeth's  eyes  a  perfect  palace. 

For  several  minutes  more  she  stood  and  contemplated 
her  kitchen,  with  the  fire  shining  on  the  round  oaken  stand 
in  the  centre,  and  the  large  wooden-bottomed  chairs,  and 
the  loud-ticking  clock,  with  its  tall  case,  the  inside  of  which, 
with  its  pendulum  and  weights,  had  been  a  perpetual  mys- 
tery and  delight,  first  to  Hilary's,  and  then  to  Ascott's 
childhood.  Then  there  was  the  sofa,  large  and  ugly,  but 
oh  !  so  comfortable,  with  its  faded,  flowered  chintz,  wash- 
ed and  worn  for  certainly  twenty  years.  And,  over  all, 
Elizabeth's  keen  observation  was  attracted  by  a  queer  ma- 
chine apparently  made  of  thin  rope  and  bits  of  wood,  which 
hung  up  to  the  hooks  on  the  ceiling  —  an  old-fashioned 
baby's  swing.  Finally,  her  eye  dwelt  with  content  on  the 
blue  and  red  diamond-tiled  floor,  so  easily  swept  and  mop- 
ped, and  (only  Elizabeth  did  not  think  of  that,  for  her  hard 
childhood  had  been  all  work  and  no  play)  so  beautiful  to 
whip  tops  upon !  Hilary  and  Ascott,  condoling  together 
over  the  new  servant,  congratulated  themselves  that  their 
delight  in  this  occupation  had  somewhat  faded,  though  it 
was  really  not  so  many  years  ago  since  one  of  the  former's 


1 8  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

pupils,  coming  suddenly  out  of  the  school-room,  had  caught 
her  in  the  act  of  whipping  a  meditative  top  round  this 
same  kitchen  floor. 

Meantime  Elizabeth  penetrated  farther,  investigating  the 
back  kitchen,  with  its  various  conveniences ;  especially  the 
pantry,  every  shelf  of  which  was  so  neatly  arranged  and 
so  beautifully  clean.  Apparently  this  neatness  impressed 
the  girl  with  a  sense  of  novelty  and  curiosity;  and  though 
she  could  hardly  be  said  to  meditate — her  mind  was  not 
sufficiently  awakened  for  that — still,  as  she  stood  at  the 
kitchen  fire,  a  slight  thoughtfulness  deepened  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face,  and  made  it  less  dull  and  heavy  than  it 
had  at  first  appeared. 

"  I  wonder  which  on  'em  does  it  all.  They  must  work 
pretty  hard,  I  reckon  ;  and  two  o'  them's  such  little  uns." 

She  stood  a  little  while  longer ;  for  sitting  down  appear- 
ed to  be  to  Elizabeth  as  new  a  proceeding  as  thinking ; 
then  she  went  up  stairs,  still  literally  obeying  orders,  to 
shut  windows  and  pull  down  blinds  at  nightfall.  The  bed- 
rooms were  small,  and  insignificantly,  nay,  shabbily  fur- 
nished ;  but  the  floors  were  spotless — ah !  poor  Johanna ! 
— and  the  sheets,  though  patched  and  darned  to  the  last 
extremity,  were  white  and  whole.  Nothing  was  dirty, 
nothing  untidy.  There  was  no  attempt  at  picturesque 
poverty — for,  whatever  novelists  may  say,  poverty  can  not 
be  picturesque;  but  all  things  were  decent  and  in  order. 
The  house,  poor  as  it  was,  gave  the  impression  of  belong- 
ing to  "  real  ladies ;"  ladies  who  thought  no  manner  of 
work  beneath  them,  and  who,  whatever  they  had  to  do, 
took  the  pains  to  do  it  as  well  as  possible. 

Mrs.  Hand's  roughly  brought-up  daughter  had  never 
been  in  such  a  house  before,  and  her  examination  of  every 
new  corner  of  it  seemed  quite  a  revelation.  Her  own  little 
sleeping  nook  was  fully  as  tidy  and  comfortable  as  the 
rest,  which  fact  was  not  lost  upon  Elizabeth.  That  bright 
look  of  mingled  softness  and  intelligence—  the  only  thing 
which  beautified  her  rugged  face — came  into  the  girl's  eyes 
as  she  "  turned  down"  the  truckle-bed,  and  felt  the  warm 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  19 

blankets  and  sheets,  new  and  rather  coarse,  but  neatly 
sewed. 

"Her's  made  'em  hersel',  I  reckon.  La!"  Which  of 
her  mistresses  the  "  her"  referred  to  remained  unspecified ; 
but  Elizabeth,  spurred  to  action  by  some  new  idea,  went 
briskly  back  into  the  bedrooms,  and  looked  about  to  see 
if  there  was  any  thing  she  could  find  to  do.  At  last,  with 
a  sudden  inspiration,  she  peered  into  a  wash-stand,  and 
found  there  an  empty  ewer.  Taking  it  in  one  hand  and 
the  candle  in  the  other,  she  ran  down  stairs. 

Fatal  activity  !  Hilary's  pet  cat,  startled  from  sleep  on 
the  kitchen  hearth,  at  the  same  instant  ran  wildly  up  stairs ; 
there  was  a  start — a  stumble — and  then  down  came  the 
candle,  the  ewer,  Elizabeth,  and  all. 

It  was  an  awful  crash.  It  brought  every  member  of  the 
family  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"  What  has  the  girl  broken  ?"  cried  Selina. 

"  Where  has  she  hurt  herself?"  anxiously  added  Jo- 
hanna. 

Hilary  said  nothing,  but  ran  for  a  light,  and  then  picked 
up  first  the  servant,  then  the  candle,  and  then  the  frag- 
ments of  crockery. 

"  Why,  it's  my  ewer,  my  favorite  ewer,  and  it's  all 
smashed  to  bits,  and  I  never  can  match  it.  You  careless, 
clumsy,  good-for-nothing  creature !" 

"  Please,  Selina,"  whispered  her  distressed  elder  sister. 

"Very  well,  Johanna,  You  are  the  mistress,  I  suppose ; 
why  don't  you  speak  to  your  servant  ?" 

Miss  Leaf,  in  a  humbled,  alarmed  way,  first  satisfied  her- 
self that  no  bodily  injury  had  been  sustained  by  Elizabeth, 
and  then  asked  her  how  this  disaster  had  happened.  For 
a  serious  disaster  she  felt  it  was.  Not  only  was  the  pres- 
ent loss  annoying,  but  a  servant  with  a  talent  for  crockery 
breaking  would  be  a  far  too  expensive  luxury  for  them  to 
think  of  retaining.  And  she  had  been  listening  in  the  sol- 
itude of  the  parlor  to  a  long  lecture  from  her  always  dis- 
satisfied younger  sister  on  the  great  doubts  Selina  had 
about  Elizabeth's  "  suiting." 


20  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"  Come,  now,"  seeing  the  girl  hesitated,  "  tell  me  the 
plain  truth.  How  was  it  ?" 

"  It  was  the  cat !"  sobbed  Elizabeth. 

"  What  a  barefaced  falsehood  !"  exclaimed  Selina.  "You 
wicked  girl,  how  could  it  possibly  be  the  cat?  Do  you 
know  you  are  telling  a  lie,  and  that  lies  are  hateful,  and 
that  all  liars  go  to — " 

"Nonsense  !  hush  !"  interrupted  Hilary,  rather  sharply; 
for  Selina's  "  tongue,"  the  terror  of  her  childhood,  now 
merely  annoyed  her.  Selina's  temper  was  a  long  under- 
stood household  fact — they  did  not  much  mind  it,  knowing 
her  bark  was  worse  than  her  bite — but  it  was  provoking 
that  she  should  exhibit  herself  so  soon  before  the  new 
servant. 

The  latter  first  looked  up  at  the  lady  with  simple  sur- 
prise :  then  as,  in  spite  of  the  other  two,  Miss  Selina  work- 
ed herself  up  into  a  downright  passion,  and  unlimited 
abuse  fell  upon  the  victim's  devoted  head,  Elizabeth's  man- 
ner changed.  After  one  dogged  repetition  of  "  It  was  the 
cat !"  not  another  word  could  be  got  out  of  her.  She  stood, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  kitchen  floor,  her  brows  knitted,  and 
her  under  lip  pushed  out — the  very  picture  of  sullenness. 
Young  as  she  \vas,  Elizabeth  evidently  had,  like  her  unfor- 
tunate mistress, "  a  temper  of  her  own"  —  a  spiritual  de- 
formity that  some  people  are  born  with,  as  others  with 
hare-lip  or  club-foot ;  only,  unlike  these,  it  may  be  conquer- 
ed, though  the  battle  is  long  and  sore,  sometimes  ending 
only  with  life. 

It  had  plainly  never  commenced  with  poor  Elizabeth 
Hand.  Her  appearance,  as  she  stood  under  the  flood  of 
sharp  words  poured  out  upon  her,  was  absolutely  repuls- 
ive. Even  Miss  Hilary  turned  away,  and  began  to  think 
it  would  have  been  easier  to  teach  all  day  and  do  house- 
work half  the  night,  than  have  the  infliction  of  a  servant — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  disgrace  of  seeing  Selina's  "  peculiar- 
ities" so  exposed  before  a  stranger. 

She  knew  of  old  that  to  stop  the  torrent  was  impractica- 
ble. The  only  chance  was  to  let  Selina  expend  her  wrath 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  21 

and  retire,  and  then  to  take  some  quiet  opportunity  of  ex- 
plaining to  Elizabeth  that  sharp  language  was  only  "  her 
way,"  and  must  be  put  up  with.  Humiliating  as  this  was, 
and  fatal  to  domestic  authority  that  the  first  thing  to  be 
taught  a  new  servant  was  to  "put  up  with"  one  of  her 
mistresses,  still  there  was  no  alternative.  Hilary  had  al- 
ready foreboded  and  made  up  her  mind  to  such  a  possibil- 
ity, but  she  had  hoped  it  would  not  occur  the  very  first 
evening. 

It  did,  however,  and  its  climax  was  worse  even  than  she 
anticipated.  Whether,  irritated  by  the  intense  sullenness 
of  the  girl,  Selina's  temper  was  worse  than  usual,  or  wheth- 
er, as  is  always  the  case  with  people  like  her,  something 
else  had  vexed  her,  and  she  vented  it  upon  the  first  cause 
of  annoyance  that  occurred,  certain  it  is  that  her  tongue 
went  on  unchecked  till  it  failed  from  sheer  exhaustion. 
And  then,  as  she  flung  herself  on  the  sofa — oh,  sad  mis- 
chance ! — she  caught  sight  of  her  nephew  standing  at  the 
school-room  door,  grinning  with  intense  delight,  and  mak- 
ing faces  at  her  behind  her  back. 

It  was  too  much.  The  poor  lady  had  no  more  words 
left  to  scold  with ;  but  she  rushed  up  to  Ascott,  and,  big 
lad  as  he  was,  she  soundly  boxed  his  ears. 

On  this  terrible  climax  let  the  curtain  fall. 


CHAPTER  II. 

COMMON  as  were  the  small  feuds  between  Ascott  and  his 
Aunt  Selina,  they  seldom  reached  such  a  catastrophe  as 
that  described  in  my  last  chapter.  Hilary  had  to  fly  to 
the  rescue,  and  literally  drag  the  furious  lad  back  into  the 
school-room ;  while  Johanna,  pale  and  trembling,  persuaded 
Selina  to  quit  the  field  and  go  and  lie  down.  This  was  not 
difficult ;  for  the  instant  she  saw  what  she  had  done,  how 
she  had  disgraced  herself  and  insulted  her  nephew,  Selina 
felt  sorry.  Her  passion  ended  in  a  gush  of "  nervous" 
tears,  under  the  influence  of  which  she  was  led  up  stairs 


22  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

and  put  to  bed,  almost  like  a  child — the  usual  termination 
of  these  pitiful  outbreaks. 

For  the  time,  nobody  thought  of  Elizabeth.  The  hapless 
cause  of  all  stood  "  spectatress  of  the  fray"  beside  her  kitch- 
en fire.  What  she  thought  history  saith  not.  Whether 
in  her  own  rough  home  she  was  used  to  see  brothers  and 
sisters  quarreling,  and  mothers  boxing  their  children's  ears, 
can  not  be  known ;  wThether  she  was  or  was  not  surprised 
to  see  the  same  proceedings  among  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
she  never  betrayed ;  but  certain  it  is  that  the  little  servant 
became  uncommonly  serious  —  yes,  serious  rather  than 
sulky,  for  her  "  black"  looks  vanished  gradually — as  soon 
as  Miss  Selina  left  the  kitchen. 

On  the  reappearance  of  Miss  Hilary  it  had  quite  gone. 
But  Hilary  took  no  notice  of  her;  she  was  in  search  of  Jo- 
hanna, who,  shaking  and  cold  with  agitation,  came  slowly 
down  stairs. 

"  Is  she  gone  to  bed  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  It  was  the  best  thing  for  her ;  she  is 
not  at  all  well  to-day." 

Hilary's  lip  curled  a  little,  but  she  replied  not  a  word. 
She  had  not  the  patience  with  Selina  that  Johanna  had. 
She  drew  her  elder  sister  into  the  little  parlor,  placed  her 
in  the  arm-chair,  shut  the  door,  came  and  sat  beside  her, 
and  took  her  hand. 

Johanna  pressed  it,  shed  a  quiet  tear  or  two,  and  wiped 
them  away.  Then  the  two  sisters  remained  silent,  with 
hearts  sad  and  sore. 

Every  family  has  its  skeleton  in  the  house ;  this  was 
theirs.  Whether  they  acknowledged  it  or  not,  they  knew 
quite  well  that  every  discomfort  they  had,  every  slight  jar 
which  disturbed  the  current  of  household  peace,  somehow 
or  other  originated  in  "poor  Selina."  They  often  called 
her  "  poor"  with  a  sort  of  pity — not  unneeded,  Heaven 
knows  !  for  if  the  unhappy  are  to  be  pitied,  ten  times  more 
so  are  those  who  make  others  miserable. 

This  was  Selina's  case,  and  had  been  all  her  life.  And, 
sometimes,  she  herself  knew  it.  Sometimes,  after  an  es- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  23 

pccially  bad  outbreak,  her  compunction  and  remorse  would 
be  almost  as  terrible  as  her  passion,  forcing  her  sisters  to 
make  every  excuse  for  her;  she  " did  not  mean  it;"  it  was 
only  "ill  health,"  or  "  nerves,"  or  her  "  unfortunate  way  of 
taking  things." 

But  they  knew  in  their  hearts  that  not  all  their  poverty 
and  the  toils  it  entailed,  not  all  the  hardships  and  humilia- 
tions of  their  changed  estate,  were  half  so  bitter  to  bear  as 
this  something— no  moral  crime,  and  yet  in  its  results  as 
fatal  as  crime — which  they  called  Selina's  "  way." 

Ascott  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  attempt  to  mince 
matters.  When  a  little  boy  he  had  openly  declared  he 
hated  Aunt  Selina ;  when  he  grew  up  he  as  openly  defied 
her ;  and  it  was  a  most  difficult  matter  to  keep  even  de- 
cent peace  between  them.  Hilary's  wrath  had  never  gone 
farther  than  wishing  Selina  was  married,  that  appearing 
the  easiest  way  to  get  rid  of  her.  Latterly  she  had  ceased 
this  earnest  aspiration,  it  might  be  because,  learning  to 
think  more  seriously  of  marriage,  she  felt  that  a  woman 
who  is  no  blessing  in  her  own  household  is  never  likely 
much  to  bless  a  husband's  ;  and  that,  looking  still  farther 
forward,  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a  mercy  of  Providence  which 
made  Selina  not  the  mother  of  children. 

Yet  her  not  marrying  had  been  somewhat  a  surprise, 
for  she  had  been  attractive  in  her  day,  handsome  and  agree- 
able in  society.  But  perhaps,  for  all  that,  the  sharp  eye 
of  the  opposite  sex  had  discovered  the  cloven  foot,  since, 
though  she  had  received  various  promising  attentions,  poor 
Selina  had  never  had  an  oifer ;  nor,  fortunately,  had  she 
ever  been  known  to  care  for  any  body.  She  was  one  of 
those  women  who  would  have  married  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  who  never  would  have  been  guilty  of  the  weak- 
ness of  falling  in  love.  There  seemed  small  probability  of 
shipping  her  off,  to  carry  into  a  new  household  the  rest- 
lessness, the  fretfulness,  the  captious  fault-finding  with  oth- 
ers, the  readiness  to  take  offense  at  what  was  done  and 
said  to  herself,  which  made  poor  Selina  Leaf  the  unac- 
knowledged grief  anc^torment  of  her  own. 


*i4  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Her  two  sisters  sat  silent.  What  was  the  use  of  talk- 
ing ?  It  would  be  only  going  over  and  over  again  the  old 
thing;  trying  to  ease  and  shift  a  little  the  long-familiar 
burden,  which  they  knew  must  be  borne.  Nearly  every 
household  has,  near  or  remote,  some  such  burden,  which 
Heaven  only  can  lift  off  or  help  to  bear.  And  sometimes, 
looking  round  the  world  outside,  these  two  congratulated 
themselves,  in  a  half  sort  of  way,  that  theirs  was  as  light 
as  it  was  ;  that  Selina  was,  after  all,  a  well-meaning,  well- 
principled  woman,  and,  in  spite  of  her  little  tempers,  really 
fond  of  her  family,  as  she  truly  was,  at  least  as  fond  as  a 
nature  which  has  its  centre  in  self  can  manage  to  be. 

Only  when  Hilary  looked,  as  to-night,  into  her  eldest 
sister's  pale  face,  where  year  by  year  the  lines  were  deep- 
ening, and  saw  Btnv  every  agitation  such  as  the  present 
shook  her  more  and  more — she  who  ought  to  have  a  quiet 
life  and  a  cheerful  home,  after  so  many  hard  years — then 
Hilary,  fierce  in  the  resistance  of  her  youth,  felt  as  if  what 
she  could  have  borne  for  herself  she  could  not  bear  for  Jo- 
hanna, and,  at  the  moment,  sympathized  with  Ascott  in 
actually  "  hating"  Aunt  Selina. 

"  Where  is  that  boy  ?  He  ought  to  be  spoken  to,"  Jo- 
hanna said,  at  length,  rising  wearily. 

"  I  have  spoken  to  him ;  I  gave  him  a  good  scolding. 
He  is  sorry,  and  promises  never  to  be  so  rude  again." 

"  Oh  no ;  not  till  the  next  time,"  replied  Miss  Leaf,  hope- 
lessly. "  But,  Hilary,"  with  a  sudden  consternation, "  what 
are  we  to  do  about  Elizabeth  ?" 

The  younger  sister  had  thought  of  that.  She  had  turn- 
ed over  in  her  mind  all  the  pros  and  cons,  the  inevitable 
"  worries"  that  would  result  from  the  presence  of  an  addi- 
tional member  of  the  family,  especially  one  from  whom  the 
family  skeleton  could  not  be  hid — to  whom  it  was  already 
only  too  fatally  revealed. 

But  Hilary  was  a  clear-headed  girl,  and  she  had  the  rare 
faculty  of  seeing  things  as  they  really  were,  undistorted  by 
her  own  likings  or  dislikings — in  fact,  without  reference  to 
herself  at  all.  She  perceived  plainly  that  Johanna  ought 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  25 

not  to  do  the  house-work ;  that  Selina  would  not,  and  that 
she  could  not:  ergo,  they  must  keep  a  servant.  Better, 
perhaps,  a  small  servant,  over  whom  they  could  have  the 
same  influence  as  over  a  child,  than  one  older  and  more  in- 
dependent, who  would  irritate  her  mistresses  at  home,  and 
chatter  of  them  abroad.  Besides,  they  had  promised  Mrs. 
Hand  to  give  her  daughter  a  fair  trial.  For  a  month,  then, 
Elizabeth  was  bound  to  stay ;  afterward,  time  would  show. 
It  was  best  not  to  meet  troubles  half  way. 

This  explained,  in  Hilary's  cheerful  voice,  seemed  greatly 
to  reassure  and  comfort  her  sister. 

"  Yes,  love,  you  are  right ;  she  must  remain  her  month 
out,  unless  she  does  something  very  wrong.  Do  you  think 
that  really  was  a  lie  she  told  ?" 

"About  the  cat?  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  think. 
Let  us  call  her,  and  put  the  question  once  more.  Do  you 
put  it,  Johanna.  I  don't  think  she  could  look  at  you  and 
tell  you  a  story." 

Other  people,  at  sight  of  that  sweet,  grave  face,  its  bloom 
faded,  and  hairs  silvered  long  before  their  time,  yet  beauti- 
ful, witli  an  almost  childlike  simplicity  and  childlike  peace 
— most  other  people  would  have  been  of  Hilary's  opinion. 

"Sit  down;  I'll  call  her.  Dear  me,  Johanna,  we  shall 
have  to  set  up  a  bell  as  well  as  a  servant,  unless  we  had 
managed  to  combine  the  two." 

But  Hilary's  harmless  little  joke  failed  to  make  her  sis- 
ter smile,  and  the  entrance  of  the  girl  seemed  to  excite  pos- 
itive apprehension.  How  was  it  possible  to  make  excuse 
to  a  servant  for  her  mistress's  shortcomings  ?  how  scold 
for  ill-doing  this  young  girl,  to  whom,  ere  she  had  been  a 
night  in  the  house,  so  bad  an  example  had  been  set?  Jo- 
hanna half  expected  Elizabeth  to  take  a  leaf  out  of  Selina's 
book,  and  begin  abusing  herself  and  Hilary. 

No ;  she  stood  very  sheepish,  very  uncomfortable,  but 
not  in  the  least  bold  or  sulky — on  the  whole,  looking  rath- 
er penitent  and  humble. 

Her  mistress  took  courage. 

"  Elizabeth,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth  about  that 

B 


26  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

unfortunate  breakage.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  had  rather  you 
broke  every  thing  in  the  house  than  have  told  me  what 
was  not  true." 

"  It  was  true  ;  it  was  the  eat." 

"  How  could  that  be  possible  ?  You  were  coming  down 
stairs  with  the  ewer  in  your  hand." 

"  He  got  under  my  feet,  and  thro  wed  me  down,  and  so  I 
tumbled,  and  smashed  the  thing  agin  the  floor." 

The  Misses  Leaf  glanced  at  each  other.  This  version  of 
the  momentous  event  was  probable  enough,  and  the  girl's 
eager,  honest  manner  gave  internal  confirmatory  evidence 
pretty  strong. 

"I  am  sure  she  is  telling  the  truth,"  said  Hilary.  "And 
remember  what  her  mother  said  about  her  word  being  al- 
ways reliable." 

This  reference  was  too  much  for  Elizabeth.  She  burst 
out,  not  into  actual  crying,  but  into  a  smothered  choke. 

"If  you  donnot  believe  me,  missus,  I'd  rather  go  home  to 
mother." 

"I  do  believe  you,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  kindly;  then  waited 
till  the  pinafore,  used  as  a  pocket-handkerchief,  had  dried" 
up  grief  and  restored  composure. 

"  I  can  quite  well  understand  the  accident  no\v ;  and  I 
am  sure,  if  you  had  put  it  as  plainly  at  first,  my  sister 
would  have  understood  it  too.  She  was  very  much  an- 
noyed, and  no  wonder.  She  will  be  equally  glad  to  find 
she  was  mistaken." 

Here  Miss  Leaf  paused,  somewhat  puzzled  how  to  ex- 
press what  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  say,  so  as  to  be  compre- 
hended by  the  servant,  and  yet  not  to  let  down  the  digni- 
ty of  the  family.  Hilary  came  to  her  aid. 

"  Miss  Selina  is  sometimes  hasty ;  but  she  means  kindly 
always.  You  must  take  care  not  to  vex  her,  Elizabeth ; 
and  you  must  never  answer  her  back  again,  however  sharp- 
ly she  speaks.  It  is  not  your  business ;  you  are  only  a 
child,  and  she  is  your  mistress." 

"  Is  her  ?     I  thought  it  was  this  'un." 

The  subdued  clouding  of  Elizabeth's  face,  and  her  blunt 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  27 

pointing  to  Miss  Leaf  as  "  this  *un,"  were  too  much  for  Hi- 
lary's gravity.  She  was  obliged  to  retreat  to  the  press,  and 
begin  an  imaginary  search  for  a  book. 

"  Yes,  I  am  the  eldest,  and  I  suppose  you  may  consider 
me  specially  as  your  mistress,"  said  Johanna,  simply.  "  Re- 
member always  to  come  to  me  in  any  difficulty;  and, 
above  all,  to  tell  me  every  thing  outright,  as  soon  as  it 
happens.  I  can  forgive  you  almost  any  fault  if  you  are 
truthful  and  honest ;  but  there  is  one  thing  I  never  could 
forgive,  and  that  is  deception.  Now  go  with  Miss  Hilary, 
and  she  will  teach  you  how  to  make  the  porridge  for  sup- 
per." 

Elizabeth  obeyed  silently :  she  had  apparently  a  great 
gift  for  silence.  And  she  was  certainly  both  obedient  and 
willing :  not  stupid,  either,  though  a  nervousness  of  tem- 
perament which  Hilary  was  surprised  to  find  in  so  big  and 
coarse-looking  a  girl  made  her  rather, awkward  at  first. 
However,  she  succeeded  in  pouring  out,  and  carrying  into 
the  parlor  without  accident,  three  platefuls  of  that  excel- 
lent condiment  which  formed  the  frugal  supper  of  the  fam- 
ily, but  which  they  ate,  I  grieve  to  say,  in  an  orthodox 
Southern  fashion,  with  sugar  or  treacle,  until  Mr.  Lyon — 
greatly  horrified  thereby — had  instituted  his  national  cus^ 
torn  of  "  supping"  porridge  with  milk. 

It  may  be  a  very  unsentimental  thing  to  confess,  but 
Hilary,  who,  even  at  twenty,  was  rather  practical  than  po- 
etical, never  made  the  porridge  without  thinking  of  Robert 
Lyon,  and  the  day  when  he  first  staid  to  supper  and  ate  it, 
or,  as  he  said,  and  was  very  much  laughed  at,  ate  "  them" 
with  such  infinite  relish.  Since  then,  whenever  he  came, 
he  always  asked  for  his  porridge,  saying  it  carried  him 
back  to  his  childish  days.  And  Hilary,  with  that  curious 
pleasure  that  women  take  in  waiting  upon  any  one  unto 
whom  the  heart  is  ignorantly  beginning  to  own  the  alle- 
giance, humble  yet  proud,  of  Miranda  to  Ferdinand : 

"To  be  your  fellow 

You  may  deny  me ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant 
Whether  you  will  or  no. " 


28  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Hilary  contrived  always  to  make  his  supper  herself. 

Those  pleasant  days  were  now  over ;  Mr.  Lyon  was  gone. 
As  she  stood  alone  over  the  kitchen  fire,  she  thought — as 
now  and  then  she  let  herself  think  for  a  minute  or  two  in 
her  busy  prosaic  life  —  of  that  August  night,  standing  at 
the  front  door,  of  his  last  "  good-by,"  and  last  hand-clasp, 
tight,  warm,  and  firm ;  and  somehow  she,  like  Johanna, 
trusted  in  him. 

Not  exactly  in  his  love ;  it  seemed  almost  impossible 
that  he  should  love  her,  at  least  till  she  grew  much  more 
worthy  of  him  than  now ;  but  in  himself,  that  he  would 
never  be  less  himself,  less  thoroughly  good  and  true  than 
now.  That,  some  time,  he  would  be  sure  to  come  back 
again,  and  take  up  his  old  relations  with  them,  brighten- 
ing their  dull  life  with  his  cheerfulness ;  infusing  in  their 
feminine  household  the  new  element  of  a  clear,  strong,  en- 
ergetic, manly  will,  which  sometimes  made  Johanna  say 
that  instead  of  twenty-five  the  young  man  might  be  forty; 
and,  above  all,  bringing  into  their  poverty  the  silent  sym- 
pathy of  one  who  had  fought  his  own  battle  with  the 
world  —  a  hard  one,  too,  as  his  face  sometimes  showed  — 
though  he  never  said  much  about  it. 

Of  the  results  of  this  pleasant  relation  —  whether  she, 
being  the  only  truly  marriageable  person  in  the  house, 
Robert  Lyon  intended  to  marry  her,  or  was  expected  to 
do  so,  or  that  society  would  think  it  a  very  odd  thing  if  he 
did  not  do  so — this  unsophisticated  Hilary  never  thought 
at  all.  If  he  had  said  to  her  that  the  present  state  of 
things  was  to  go  on  forever;  she  to  remain  always  Hilary 
Leaf,  arid  he  Robert  Lyon,  the  faithful  friend  of  the  family, 
she  would  have  smiled  in  his  face  and  been  perfectly  satis- 
fied. 

True,  she  had  never  had  any  thing  to  drive  away  the 
smile  from  that  innocent  face ;  no  vague  jealousies  aroused ; 
no  maddening  rumors  afloat  in  the  small  world  that  was 
his  and  theirs.  Mr.  Lyon  was  grave  and  sedate  in  all  his 
ways;  he  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to,  or  express- 
ed the  slightest  interest  in,  any  woman  whatse-rver. 


MISTBESS   AND   MAID.  29 

And  so  this  hapless  girl  loved  him — just  himself;  with- 
out the  slightest  reference  to  his  "  connections,"  for  he  had 
none ;  or  his  "  prospects,"  which,  if  he  had  any,  she  did  not 
know  of.  Alas  !  to  practical  and  prudent  people  I  can  of- 
fer no  excuse  for  her,  except,  perhaps,  what  Shakspeare 
gives  in  the  creation  of  his  poor  Miranda. 

When  the  small  servant  re-entered  the  kitcltei^  Hilary, 
with  a  half  sigh,  shook  off  her  dreams,  called  Ascott  out 
of  the  school-room,  and  returned  to  the  work-a-day  world 
and  the  family  supper. 

This  being  ended,  seasoned  with  a  few  quiet  words  ad- 
ministered to  Ascott,  and  which,  on  the  whole,  he  took 
pretty  well,  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock. 

*'  Far  too  late  to  have  kept  up  such  a  child  as  Elizabeth ; 
we  must  not  do  it  again,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  taking  down 
the  large  Bible  with  which  she  was  accustomed  to  con- 
clude the  day  —  Ascott's  early  hours  at  school  and  their 
own  house-work  making  it  difficult  of  mornings.  Very 
brief  the  reading  was,  sometimes  not  more  than  half  a 
dozen  verses,  with  no  comment  thereon ;  she  thought  the 
Word  of  God  might  safely  be  left  to  expound  itself.  Be- 
ing a  very  humble-minded  woman,  she  did  not  feel  quali- 
fied to  lead  long  devotional  "  exercises,"  and  she  disliked 
formal  written  prayers.  So  she  merely  read  the  Bible  to 
her  family,  and  said  after  it  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

But,  constitutionally  shy  as  Miss  Leaf  was,  to  do  even 
this  in  presence  of  a  stranger  cost  her  some  effort ;  and  it 
was  only  a  sense  of  duty  that  made  her  say  "yes"  to  Hi- 
lary's suggestion,  "  I  suppose  we  ought  to  call  in  Eliza- 
beth?" 

Elizabeth  came. 

"Sit  down,"  said  her  mistress;  and  she  sat  down,  star- 
ing uneasily  round  about  her,  as  if  wondering  what  was 
going  to  befall  her  next.  Very  silent  was  the  little  par- 
lor ;  so  small,  that  it  was  almost  filled  up  by  its  large 
square  piano,  its  six  cane-bottomed  chairs,  and  one  easy- 
chair,  in  the  which  sat  Miss  Leaf,  with  the  great  Book  in 
her  lap. 


30  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

"  Can  you  read,  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"Hilary,  give  her  a  Bible." 

And  so  Elizabeth  followed,  guided  by  her  not  too  clean 
finger,  the  words,  read  in  that  soft,  low  voice,  somewhere 
out  of  the  New  Testament;  words  simple  enough  for  the 
comprehension  of  a  child  or  a  heathen.  The  "  South-Sea 
Islander,"  as  Ascott  long  persisted  in  calling  her,  then,  do- 
ing as  the  family  did,  turned  round  to  kneel  down ;  but  in 
her  confusion  she  knocked  over  a  chair,  causing  Miss  Leaf 
to  wait  a  minute  till  reverent  silence  was  restored.  Eliza- 
beth knelt,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  wall :  it  was  a  green 
paper,  patterned  with  bunches  of  nuts.  How  far  she  list- 
ened, or  how  much  she  understood,  it  was  impossible  to 
say ;  but  her  manner  was  decent  and  decorous. 

"Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  ice  forgive  those  that  tres- 
pass against  us"  Unconsciously  Miss  Leaf's  gentle  voice 
rested  on  these  words,  so  needed  in  the  daily  life  of  every 
human  being,  and  especially  of  every  family.  Was  she  the 
only  one  who  thought  of  "poor  Selina?" 

They  all  rose  from  their  knees,  and  Hilary  put  the  Bible 
away.  The  little  servant  "hung  about,"  apparently  un- 
certain what  was  next  to  be  done,  or  what  was  expected 
of  her  to  do.  Hilary  touched  her  sister. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  recollecting  herself,  and  assum- 
ing the  due  authority,  "  it  is  quite  time  for  all  the  family 
to  be  in  bed.  Take  care  of  your  candle,  and  mind  and  be 
up  at  six  to-morrow  morning." 

This  was  addressed  to  the  new  maiden,  who  dropped  a 
courtesy,  and  said,  almost  cheerfully,  "  Yes,  ma'am." 

"Very  well.     Good-night, Elizabeth." 

And,  following  Miss  Leaf's  example,  the  other  two,  even 
Ascott,  said  civilly  and  kindly,  "  Good-night,  Elizabeth." 


MISTEESS    AND    MAID.  31 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  Christmas  holidays  ended,  and  Ascott  left  for  Lon- 
don. It  was  the  greatest  household  change  the  Misses 
Leaf  had  known  for  years,  and  they  missed  him  sorely. 
Ascott  was  not  exactly  a  lovable  boy,  and  yet,  after  the 
fashion  of  womankind,  his  aunts  were  both  fond  and  proud 
of  him ;  fond,  in  their  childless  old-maidenhood,  of  any  sort 
of  nephew,  and  proud,  unconsciously,  that  the  said  nephew 
was  a  big  fellow,  who  could  look  over  all  their  heads,  be- 
sides being  handsome  and  pleasant-mannered,  and,  though 
not  clever  enough  to  set  the  Thames  on  fire,  still  sufficient- 
ly bright  to  make  them  hope  that  in  his  future  the  family 
star  might  again  rise. 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  these  three  women's 
idealization  of  him — even  Selina's,  who,  though  quarreling 
with  him  to  his  face,  always  praised  him  behind  his  back — 
that  great,  good-looking,  lazy  lad ;  who,  every  body  else 
saw  clearly  enough,  thought  more  of  his  own  noble  self 
than  of  all  his  aunts  put  together.  The  only  person  he 
stood  in  awe  of  was  Mr.  Lyon,  for  whom  he  always  pro- 
tested unbounded  respect  and  admiration.  How  far  Rob- 
ert Lyon  liked  Ascott  even  Hilary  could  never  quite  find 
out ;  but  he  was  always  very  kind  to  him. 

There  was  one  person  in  the  house  who,  strange  to  say, 
did  not  succumb  to  the  all-dominating  youth.  From  the 
very  first  there  was  a  smouldering  feud  between  him  and 
Elizabeth.  Whether  she  overheard,  and  slowly  began  to 
comprehend  his  mocking  jibes  about  the  "  South-Sea  Isl- 
ander," or  whether  her  sullen  and  dogged  spirit  resisted 
the  first  attempts  the  lad  made  to  "put  upon  her" — as  he 
did  upon  his  aunts,  in  small  daily  tyrannies  —  was  never 
found  out ;  but  certainly  Ascott,  the  general  favorite,  found 
little  favor  with  the  new  servant.  She  never  answered 


32  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

when  he  "  hollo'd"  for  her ;  she  resisted  blacking  his  boots 
more  than  once  a  day ;  and  she  obstinately  cleared  the 
kitchen  fireplace  of  his  "  messes,"  as  she  ignominiously 
termed  various  pots  and  pans  belonging  to  what  he  called 
his  "  medical  studies." 

Although  the  war  was  passive  rather  than  aggressive, 
and  sometimes  a  source  of  private  amusement  to  the  aunts, 
still,  on  the  whole,  it  wras  a  relief  when  the  exciting  cause 
of  it  departed ;  his  new  and  most  gentlemanly  portman- 
teau being'  carried  down  stairs  by  Elizabeth  herself,  of  her 
own  accord,  with  an  air  of  cheerful  alacrity,  foreign  to  her 
mien  for  some  weeks  past,  and  which,  even  in  the  midst  of 
the  dolorous  parting,  amused  Hilary  extremely. 

"  I  think  that  girl  is  a  character,"  she  said  afterward  to 
Johanna.  "Anyhow  she  has  curiously  strong  likes  and 
dislikes." 

"You  may  say  that,  my  dear;  for  she  brightens  up 
whenever  she  looks  at  you." 

"  Does  she  ?  Oh,  that  must  be  because  I  have  most  to 
do  with  her.  It  is  wonderful  how  friendly  one  gets  over 
saucepans  and  brooms,  and  what  reverence  one  inspires  in 
the  domestic  mind  when  one  really  knows  how  to  make  a 
bed  or  a  pudding." 

"  How  I  wish  you  had  to  do  neither !"  sighed  Johanna, 
looking  fondly  at  the  bright  face  and  light  little  figure  that 
was  flitting  about,  putting  the  school-room  to  rights  before 
the  pupils  came  in. 

"Nonsense  —  I  don't  wish  any  such  thing.  Doing  it 
makes  me  not  a  whit  less  charming  and  lovely."  She  oft- 
en applied  these  adjectives  to  herself,  with  the  most  per- 
fect conviction  that  she  was  uttering  a  fiction  patent  to 
every  body.  "I  must  be  very  juvenile  also,  for  I'm  certain 
the  fellow-passenger  at  the  station  to-day  took  me  for  As- 
cott's  sweetheart.  When  we  were  saying  good-by,  an  old 
gentlemen  who  sat  next  him  was  particularly  sympathetic, 
and  you  should  have  seen  how  indignantly  Ascott  replied, 
4  It's  only  my  aunt  /' " 

Miss  Leaf  laughed,  and  the  shadow  vanished  from  her 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  33 

face,  as  Hilary  had  meant  it  should.     She  only  said,  caress- 
ing her, 

"  Well,  my  pet,  never  mind.  I  hope  you  may  have  a 
real  sweetheart  some  day." 

"I'm  in  no  hurry, thank  you,  Johanna." 

But  now  was  heard  the  knock  after  knock  of  the  little 
boys  and  girls,  and  there  began  that  monotonous  daily 
round  of  school  labor,  rising  from  the  simplicities  of  c,  a,  t, 
cat,  and  d,  o,  g,  dog,  to  the  sublime  heights  of  Pinnock 
and  Lennie,  Telemaque  and  Latin  Delectus.  No  loftier : 
Stowbury  being  well  supplied  with  first-class  schools,  and 
having  a  vague  impression  that  the  Misses  Leaf,  born  la- 
dies and  not  brought  up  as  governesses,  were  not  compe- 
tent educators  except  of  very  small  children. 

Which  was  true  enough  until  lately.  So  Miss  Leaf  kept 
contentedly  to  the  c,  a,  t,  cat,  and  d,  o,  g,  dog,  of  the  little 
butchers  and  bakers,  as  Miss  Selina,  who  taught  only  sew- 
ing, and  came  into  the  school-room  but  little  during  the 
day,  scornfully  termed  them.  The  higher  branches,  such 
as  they  were,  she  left  gradually  to  Hilary,  who,  of  late, 
possibly  out  of  sympathy  with  a  friend  of  hers,  had  begun 
to  show  an  actual  gift  for  teaching  school. 

It  is  a  gift,  all  will  allow,  and  chiefly  those  who  have, 
it  not,  among  which  was  poor  Johanna  Leaf.  The  admir- 
ing envy  with  which  she  watched  Hilary  moving  briskly 
about  from  class  to  class,  with  a  word  of  praise  to  one  and 
rebuke  to  another,  keeping  every  one's  attention  alive, 
spurring  on  the  dull,  controlling  the  unruly,  and  exercising 
over  every  member  in  this  little  world  that  influence,  at 
once  the  strongest  and  most  intangible  and  inexplicable- 
personal  influence — was  only  equaled  by  the  way  in  which, 
at  pauses  in  the  day's  work,  when  it  grew  dull  and  monot- 
onous, or  when  the  stupidity  of  the  children  ruffled  her 
own  quiet  temper  beyond  endurance,  Hilary  watched  Jo- 
hanna. 

The  time  I  am  telling  of  is  now  long  ago.  The  Stowbury 
children,  who  were  then  little  boys  and  girls,  are  now  fatheis 
and  mothers  —  doubtless  a  large  proportion  being  decent 

B2 


34  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

tradesfolk  in  Stowbury  still;  though,  in  this  locomotive 
quarter,  many  must  have  drifted  off  elsewhere  —  where, 
Heaven  knows!  But  not  a  few  of  them  may  still  call  to 
mind  Miss  Leaf,  who  first  taught  them  their  letters — sitting 
in  her  corner  between  the  fire  and  the  window,  while  the 
blind  was  drawn  down  to  keep  out,  first  the  light  from  her 
own  fading  eyes,  and,  secondly,  the  distracting  view  of  green 
fields  and  trees  from  the  youthful  eyes  by  her  side.  They 
may  remember  still  her  dark  plain  dress  and  her  white 
apron,  on  which  the  primers,  torn  and  dirty,  looked  half 
ashamed  to  lie  ;  and,  above  all,  her  sweet  face,  and  sweeter 
voice,  never  heard  in  any  thing  sharper  than  that  grieved 
tone  which  signified  their  being  "  naughty  children."  They 
may  recall  her  unwearied  patience  witli  the  very  dullest 
and  most  wayward  of  them  ;  her  unfailing  sympathy  with 
every  infantile  pleasure  and  pain.  And  I  think  they  will 
acknowledge  that  whether  she  taught  them  much  or  little 
• — in  this  advancing  age  it  might  be  thought  little — Miss 
Leaf  taught  them  one  thing — to  love  her;  which,  as  Ben 
Jonson  said  of  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  was  in  itself  a 
<:  liberal  education." 

Hilary,  too.  Often,  when  Hilary's  younger  and  more 
restless  spirit  chafed  against  the  monotony  of  her  life ; 
when,  instead  of  wasting  her  days  in  teaching  small  chil- 
dren, she  would  have  liked  to  be  learning,  learning — every 
day  growing  wiser  and  cleverer,  and  stretching  out  into 
that  busy,  bright,  active  world  of  which  Robert  Lyon  had 
told  her — then  the  sight  of  Johanna's  meek  face  bent  over 
those  dirty  spelling-books  would  at  once  rebuke  and  com- 
fort her.  She  felt,  after  all,  that  she  would  not  mind  work- 
ing on  forever,  so  long  as  Johanna  still  sat  there. 

Nevertheless,  that  winter  seemed  to  her  very  long,  es- 
pecially after  Ascott  was  gone.  For  Johanna,  partly  for 
money  and  partly  for  kindliness,  had  added  to  her  day's 
work  four  evenings  a  week,  when  a  half-educated  mother 
of  one  of  her  little  pupils  came  to  be  taught  to  write  a  de- 
cent hand,  and  to  keep  the  accounts  of  her  shop.  Upon 
which  SeHna,  highly  indignant,  had  taken  to  spending  her 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  35 

evenings  in  the  school-room,  interrupting  Hilary's  solitary 
studies  there  by  many  a  lamentation  over  the  peaceful  days 
when  they  all  sat  in  the  kitchen  together  and  kept  no  serv- 
ant. For  Selina  was  one  of  those  who  never  saw  the  bright 
side  of  any  thing  till  it  had  gone  by. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  we  are  to  manage  with 
Elizabeth.  That  greedy— 

"  And  growing,"  suggested  Hilary. 

"I  say,  that  greedy  girl  eats  as  much  as  any  two  of  us. 
And  as  for  her  clothes — her  mother  does  not  keep  her  even 
decent." 

"She  would  find  it  difficult  upon  three  pounds  a  year." 

"  Hilary,  how  dare  you  contradict  me  !  I  am  only  stat- 
ing a  plain  fact." 

"  And  I  another.  But,  indeed,  I  don't  want  to  talk,  Se- 
lina." 

"  You  never  do,  except  when  you  are  wished  to  be  si- 
lent, and  then  your  tongue  goes  like  any  race-horse." 

"  Does  it  ?     Well,  like  Gilpin's, 

"  '  It  carries  weight,  it  rides  a  race, 
'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound !' 

— and  I  only  wish  it  were.  Heigh-ho  !  if  I  could  but  earn 
a  thousand  pounds !" 

Selina  was  too  vexed  to  reply ;  and  for  five  quiet  min- 
utes Hilary  bent  over  her  Homer,  which  Mr.  Lyon  had 
taken  such  pleasure  in  teaching  her,  because,  he  said,  she 
learned  it  faster  than  any  of  his  grammar-school  boys.    She 
had  forgotten  all  domestic  grievances  in  a  vision  of  Thetis 
and  the  water-nymphs,  and  was  repeating  to  herself,  first 
in  the  sonorous  Greek,  and  then  in  Pope's  small  but  sweet 
English,  that  catalogue  of  oceanic  beauties  ending  with 
"  Black  Janira  and  Janassa  fair, 
And  Amatheia  with  her  amber  hair." 

"Black,  did  you  say?     I'm  sure  she  was  as  black  as  a 
chimney-sweep  all  to-day.     And  her  pinafore — " 
"  Her  what  ?     Oh,  Elizabeth,  you  mean — " 
"  Her  pinafore  had  three  rents  in  it,  which  she  never 
thinks  of  mending,  though  I  gave  her  needles  and  thread 


36  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

myself  a  week  ago.  But  she  does  not  know  how  to  use 
them  any  more  than  a  baby." 

"  Possibly  nobody  ever  taught  her." 

"Yes;  she  went  for  a  year  to  the  National  School,  she 
says,  and  learned  both  marking  and  sewing." 

"  Perhaps  she  has  never  practiced  them  since.  She  could 
hardly  have  had  time,  with  all  the  little  Hands  to  look  aft- 
er, as  her  mother  says  she  did.  All  the  better  for  us.  It 
makes  her  wonderfully  patient  with  our  troublesome  brats. 
It  was  only  to-day,  when  that  horrid  little  Jacky  Smith  hurt 
himself  so,  that  I  saw  Elizabeth  take  him  into  the  kitchen, 
wash  his  face  and  hands,  and  cuddle  him  up  and  comfort 
him,  quite  motherly.  Her  forte  is  certainly  children." 

"  You  always  find  something  to  say  for  her." 

"I  should  be  ashamed  if  I  could  not  find  something  to 
say  for  any  body  who  is  always  abused." 

Another  pause — and  then  Selina  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  Have  you  ever  observed,  my  dear,  the  extraordinary 
way  she  has  of  fastening,  or,  rather,  not  fastening  her  gown 
behind?  She  just  hooks  it  together  at  the  top  and  at  the 
waist,  while  between  there  is  a — " 

"Hiatus  valde  deflendus.  Oh  dear  me  !  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Selina,  how  can  I  help  it  if  a  girl  of  fifteen  years  old  is  not 
a  paragon  of  perfection?  as  of  course  we  all  are,  if  we  only 
could  find  it  out." 

And  Hilary,  in  despair,  rose  to  carry  her  candle  and 
books  into  the  chilly  but  quiet  bedroom,  biting  her  lips 
the  while  lest  she  should  be  tempted  to  say  something 
which  Selina  called  "  impertinent,"  which  perhaps  it  was, 
from  a  younger  sister  to  an  elder.  I  do  not  set  Hilary  up 
as  a  perfect  character.  Through  sorrow  only  do  people  go 
on  to  perfection ;  and  sorrow,  in  its  true  meaning,  this  cher- 
ished girl  had  never  known. 

But  that  night,  talking  to  Johanna  before  they  went  to 
sleep — they  had  always  slept  together  since  the  time  when 
the  elder  sister  used  to  walk  the  room  of  nights  with  that 
puling,  motherless  infant  in  her  arms — Hilary  anxiously 
started  the  question  of  the  little  servant. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  37 

"I  am  afraid  I  vexed  Selina  greatly  about  her  to-night; 
and  yet  what  can  one  do?  Selina  is  so  very  unjust — al- 
ways expecting  impossibilities.  She  would  like  to  have 
Elizabeth  at  once  a  first-rate  cook,  a  finished  house-maid, 
and  an  attentive  lady's-maid,  and  all  without  being  taught ! 
She  gives  her  things  to  do,  neither  waiting  to  see  if  they 
are  comprehended  by  her,  nor  showing  her  how  to  do  them. 
Of  course  the  girl  stands  gaping  and  staring,  and  does  not 
do  them,  or  does  them  so  badly  that  she  gets  a  thorough 
scolding." 

u  Is  she  very  stupid,  do  you  think  ?"  asked  Johanna,  in 
unconscious  appeal  to  her  pet's  stronger  judgment. 

"  No,  I  don't.  Far  from  stupid ;  only  very  ignorant, 
and — you  would  hardly  believe  it — very  nervous.  Selina 
frightens  her.  She  gets  on  extremely  well  with  me." 

"Any  one  wrould,  my  dear.  That  is,"  added  the  con- 
scientious elder  sister,  still  afraid  of  making  the  "  child" 
vain, "  any  one  whom  you  took  pains  with.  But  do  you 
think  we  ever  can  make  any  thing  out  of  Elizabeth?  Her 
month  ends  to-morrow.  Shall  we  let  her  go  ?" 

"And  perhaps  get  in  her  place  a  story-teller — a  tale- 
bearer— even  a  thief.  No,  no  ;  let  us 

"'Rather  bear  the  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of;' 

and  a  thief  would  be  worse  than  even  a  South-Sea  Isl- 
ander." 

"  Oh  yes,  my  dear."  said  Johanna,  with  a  shiver. 

"By-the-by,  the  first  step  in  the  civilization  of  the  Poly- 
nesians was  giving  them  clothes.  And  I  have  heard  say 
that  crime  and  rags  often  go  together ;  that  a  man  uncon- 
sciously feels  he  owes  something  to  himself  and  society  in 
the  way  of  virtue  when  he  has  a  clean  face  and  clean  shirt, 
and  a  decent  coat  on.  Suppose  we  try  the  experiment  of 
dressing  Elizabeth.  How  many  old  gowns  have  we  ?" 

The  number  was  few.  Nothing  in  the  Leaf  family  was 
ever  cast  off  till  its  very  last  extremity  of  decay ;  the  tal- 
ent that 

"  Gars  auld  claes  look  amaist  as  glide  's  the  new" 


38  MISTIIESS   AND   MAID. 

\ 

being  especially  possessed  by  Hilary.  She  counted  over 
her  own  wardrobe  and  Johanna's,  but  found  nothing  that 
could  be  spared. 

"  Yes,  my  love,  there  is  one  thing.  You  certainly  shall 
never  put  on  that  old  brown  merino  again,  though  you 
have  laid  it  so  carefully  by,  as  if  you  meant  it  to  come  out 
as  fresh  as  ever  next  winter.  No,  Hilary,  you  must  have  a 
new  gown,  and  must  give  Elizabeth  your  brown  merino." 

Hilary  laughed,  and  replied  not. 

Now  it  might  be  a  pathetic  indication  of  a  girl  who  had 
very  few  clothes,  but  Hilary  had  a  superstitious  weakness 
concerning  hers.  Every  dress  had  its  own  peculiar  chron- 
icle of  the  scenes  where  it  had  been,  the  enjoyments  she 
had  shared  in  it.  Particular  dresses  were  special  memo- 
rials of  her  loves,  her  pleasures,  her  little  passing  pains :  as 
long  as  a  bit  remained  of  the  poor  old  fabric,  the  sight  of 
it  recalled  them  all. 

This  brown  merino — in  which  she  had  sat  two  whole 
winters  over  her  Greek  and  Latin  by  Robert  Lyon's  side, 
which  he  had  once  stopped  to  touch  and  notice,  saying 
what  a  pretty  color  it  was,  and  how  he  liked  soft-feeling 
dresses  for  women — to  cut  up  this  old  brown  merino  seem- 
ed to  hurt  her  so  she  could  almost  have  cried. 

Yet  what  would  Johanna  think  if  she  refused  ?  And 
there  was  Elizabeth  absolutely  in  want  of  clothes.  "I 
must  be  growing  very  wicked,"  thought  poor  Hilary. 

She  lay  a  good  while  silent  in  the  dark,  while  Johanna 
planned  and  replanned — calculating  how,  even  with  the 
addition  of  an  old  cape  of  her  own,  which  was  out  of  the 
same  piece,  this  hapless  gown  could  be  made  to  fit  the 
gaunt  frame  of  Elizabeth  Hand.  Her  poor  kindly  brain 
was  in  the  last  extremity  of  muddle,  when  Hilary,  with  a 
desperate  effort,  dashed  in  to  the  rescue,  and  soon  made  all 
clear,  contriving  body,  skirt,  sleeves,  and  all. 

"  You  have  the  best  head  in  the  world,  my  love.  I  don't 
know  whatever  I  should  do  without  you." 

"Luckily  you  are  never  likely  to  be  tried.  So  give  me 
a  kiss  ;  and  good-night,  Johanna." 


MISTKESS    AND   MAID.  39 

I  misdoubt  many  will  say  I  am  writing  about  small,  ri- 
diculously small  things.  Yet  is  not  the  whole  of  life  made 
up  of  iniiiiitesimally  small  things  ?  And  in  its  strange  and 
solemn  mosaic,  the  full  pattern  of  which  we  never  see 
clearly  till  looking  back  on  it  from  far  away,  dare  we  say 
of  any  thing  which  the  hand  of  Eternal  Wisdom  has  put 
together  that  it  is  too  common  or  too  small  ? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHILE  her  anxious  mistresses  were  thus  talking  her 
over  the  servant  lay  on  her  humble  bed  and  slept.  They 
knew  she  did,  for  they  heard  her  heavy  breathing  through 
the  thin  partition-wall.  Whether,  as  Hilary  suggested, 
she  was  too  ignorant  to  notice  the  days  of  the  week  or 
month,  or,  as  Selina  thought,  too  stupid  to  care  for  any 
thing  beyond  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping,  Elizabeth 
manifested  no  anxiety  about  herself  or  her  destiny.  •  She 
went  about  her  work  just  as  usual ;  a  little  quicker  and 
readier,  now  she  was  becoming  familiarized  to  it ;  but  she 
said  nothing.  She  was  undoubtedly  a  girl  of  silent  and 
undemonstrative  nature. 

"  Sometimes  still  waters  run  deep,"  said  Miss  Hilary. 

"  Nevertheless,  there  are  such  things  as  canals,"  replied 
Johanna.  "  When  do  you  mean  to  have  your  little  talk 
with  her?" 

Hilary  did  not  know^  She  was  sitting,  rather  more  tired 
than  usual,  by  the  school-room  fire,  the  little  people  having 
just  departed  for  their  Saturday  half- holiday.  Before 
clearing  off  the  debris  which  they  always  left  behind,  she 
stood  a  minute  at  the  window,  refreshing  her  eyes  with 
the  green  field  opposite,  and  the  far-away  wood,  crowned 
by  a  dim  white  monument,  visible  in  fair  weather,  on  which 
those  bright  brown  eyes  had  a  trick  of  lingering,  even  in 
the  middle  of  school-hours.  For  the  wood  and  the  hill  be- 
yond belonged  to  a  nobleman's  "  show"  estate  five  miles 
off— the  only  bit  of  real  landscape  beauty  that  Hilary  had 


40  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

ever  beheld.  There,  during  the  last  holidays  but  one,  she, 
her  sisters,  her  nephew,  and,  by  his  own  special  request. 
Mr.  Lyon,  had  spent  a  whole  long,  merry,  midsummer  day, 
She  wondered  whether  such  a  day  would  ever  come  again. 

But  spring  was  coming  again,  anyhow  :  the  field  looked 
smiling  and  green,  speckled  here  and  there  with  white  dots, 
which,  she  opined,  might  possibly  be  daisies.  She  half 
wished  she  was  not  too  old  and  dignified  to  dart  ac.ross 
the  road,  leap  the  sunk  fence,  and  run  to  see. 

"I  think,  Johanna — Hark  !  what  can  that  be  ?" 

For  at  this  instant  somebody  came  tearing  down  the 
stairs,  opened  the  front  door,  and  did — exactly  what  Hila- 
ry had  just  been  wishing  to  do. 

"  It's  Elizabeth,  without  her  bonnet  or  shawl,  with  some- 
thing white  flying  behind  her.  How  she  is  dashing  across 
the  field  !  What  can  she  be  after  ?  Just  look." 

But  loud  screams  from  Selina's  room — the  front  one — 
where  she  had  been  lying  in  bed  all  morning,  quite  oblit- 
erated the  little  servant  from  their  minds.  The  two  sisters 
ran  hastily  up  stairs. 

Selina  was  sitting  up,  in  undisguised  terror  and  agitation. 

"  Stop  her !  Hold  her !  I'm  sure  she  has  gone  mad. 
Lock  the  door — or  she'll  come  back  and  murder  us  all." 

«  Who— Elizabeth  ?  Was  she  here?  What  has  been 
the  matter  ?" 

But  it  was  some  time  before  they  could  make  out  any 
thing.  At  last  they  gathered  that  Elizabeth  had  been 
waiting  upon  Miss  Selina,  putting  vinegar-cloths  on  her 
head,  and  doing  various  things  about  the  room.  "  She  is 
very  handy  when  one  is  ill,"  even  Selina  allowed. 

"And  I  assure  you  I  was  talking  most  kindly  to  her: 
about  the  duties  of  her  position,  and  how  she  ought  to 
dress  better,  and  be  more  civil-behaved,  or  else  she  never 
could  expect  to  keep  any  place.  And  she  stood  in  her 
usual  sulky  way  of  listening,  never  answering  a  word-^ 
with  her  back  to  me,  staring  right  out  of  window.  And  I 
had  just  said, '  Elizabeth,  my  girl' — indeed,  Hilary,  I  was 
talking  to  her  in  my  very  kindest  way — " 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  41 

"I've  no  doubt  of  it — but  do  get  on." 

"  When  she  suddenly  turned  round,  snatched  a  clean 
towel  from  a  chair-back,  and  another  from  my  head — actu- 
ally from  my  very  head,  Johanna — and  out  she  ran.  I 
called  after  her,  but  she  took  no  more  notice  than  if  I  had 
been  a  stone.  And  she  left  the  door  wide  open — blowing 
upon  me.  Oh,  dear;  she  has  given  me  my  death  of  cold." 
And  Selina  broke  into  piteous  complainings. 

Her  elder  sister  soothed  her  as  well  as  she  could,  while 
Hilary  ran  down  to  the  front  door  and  looked,  and  inquired 
every  where  for  Elizabeth.  She  was  not  to  be  seen  on 
field  or  road ;  and  along  that  quiet  terrace  not  a  soul  had 
even  perceived  her  quit  the  house. 

"  It's  a  very  odd  thing,"  said  Hilary,  returning.  "  What 
can  have  come  over  the  girl  ?  You  are  sure,  Selina,  that 
you  said  nothing  which — " 

"  Now  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say.  You  are  go- 
ing to  blame  me.  Whatever  happens  in  this  house  you 
always  blame  me.  And  perhaps  you're  right.  Perhaps  I 
am  a  nuisance — a  burden — would  be  far  better  dead  and 
buried.  I  wish  I  were  !" 

When  Selina  took  this  tack,  of  course  her  sisters  were  si- 
lenced. They  quieted  her  a  little,  and  then  went  down 
and  searched  the  house  all  over. 

All  was  in  order — at  least  in  as  much  order  as  was  to  be 
expected  the  hour- before  dinner.  The  bowl  of  half-peeled 
potatoes  stood  on  the  back  kitchen  "  sink ;"  the  roast  was 
down  before  the  fire ;  the  knives  were  ready  for  cleaning. 
Evidently  Elizabeth's  flight  had  not  been  premeditated. 

"It's  all  nonsense  about  her  going  mad.  She  has  as 
sound  a  head  as  I  have,"  said  Hilary  to  Johanna,  who  be- 
gan to  look  seriously  uneasy.  "  She  might  have  run  away 
in  a  fit  of  passion,  certainly;  and  yet  that  is  improbable; 
her  temper  is  more  sullen  than  furious.  And,  having  no 
lack  of  common  sense,  she  must  know  that  doing  a  thing 
like  this  is  enough  to  make  her  lose  her  place  at  once." 

Yes,"  said  Johanna,  mournfully,  "I'm  afraid  after  this 
eh?  must  go." 


42  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"  Wait  and  sec  what  she  has  to  say  for  herself,"  pleaded 
Hilary.  "  She  will  surely  be  back  in  two  or  three  min- 
utes." 

But  she  was  not,  nor  even  in  two  or  three  hours. 

Her  mistresses'  annoyance  became  displeasure,  and  that 
again  subsided  into  serious  apprehension.  Even  Selina 
ceased  talking  over  and  over  the  incident  which  gave  the 
sole  information  to  be  arrived  at ;  rose,  dressed,  and  came 
down  to  the  kitchen.  There,  after  long  and  anxious  con- 
sultation, Hilary,  observing  that  "somebody  had  better 
do  something,"  began  to  prepare  the  dinner,  as  in  pre- 
Elizabethan  days ;  but  the  three  ladies'  appetites  were 
small. 

About  three  in  the  afternoon,  Hilary,  giving  utterance 
to  the  hidden  alarm  of  all,  said, 

"  I  think,  sisters,  1  had  better  go  down  as  quickly  as  I 
can  to  Mrs.  Hand's." 

This  agreed,  she  stood  consulting  with  Johanna  as  to 
what  could  possibly  be  said  to  the  mother  in  case  that  un- 
fortunate child  had  not  gone  home,  when  the  kitchen  door 
opened,  and  the  culprit  appeared. 

Not,  however,  with  the  least  look  of  a  culprit.  Hot  she 
was,  and  breathless ;  and  with  her  hair  down  about  her 
ears,  and  her  apron  rolled  up  round  her  waist,  presented  a 
most  forlorn  and  untidy  aspect ;  but  her  eyes  were  bright, 
and  her  countenance  glowing. 

She  took  a  towel  from  under  her  arm.  "There's  one  on 
'em — and  you'll  get  back — the  other — when  it's  washed." 

Having  blurted  out  this,  she  leaned  against  the  wall, 
trying  to  recover  her  breath. 

"  Elizabeth  !  Where  have  you  been  ?  How  dared  you 
go?  Your  behavior  is  disgraceful  —  most  disgraceful,  I 
say.  Johanna,  why  don't  you  speak  to  your  servant?" 
(When,  for  remissness  in  reproving  others,  the  elder  sister 
fell  herself  under  reproof,  it  was  always  emphatically  "your 
sister" — "your  nephew" — "your  servant.") 

But,  for  once,  Miss  Selina's  sharp  voice  failed  to  bring 
tne  customary  sullen  look  to  Elizabeth's  face,  and  when 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  43 

Miss  Leaf,  in  her  milder  tones,  asked  where  she  had  been, 
she  answered  unhesitatingly, 

"  I've  been  down  the  town." 

"Down  the  town  !"  the  three  ladies  cried,  in  one  chorus 
of  astonishment. 

"  I've  been  as  quick  as  I  could,  missis.  I  runned  all  the 
way,  there  and  back;  but  it  was  a  good  step,  and  he  was 
some'at  heavy,  though  he  is  but  a  little  'un." 

"  He  !  who  on  earth  is  he  ?" 

"Deary  me!  I  never  thought  of  axing;  but  his  mother 
lives  in  Hall  Street.  Somebody  saw  me  carrying  him  to 
the  doctor,  and  went  and  told  her.  Oh  !  he  was  welly 
killed,  Miss  Leaf— the  doctor  said  so ;  but  he'll  do  now, 
and  you'll  get  your  towel  clean  washed  to-morrow." 

While  Elizabeth  spoke  so  incoherently,  and  with  such 
unwonted  energy  and  excitement,  Johanna  looked  as  if  she 
thought  her  sister's  fears  were  true,  and  the  girl  had  really 
gone  mad ;  but  Hilary's  quicker  perceptions  jumped  at  a 
different  conclusion. 

"  Quiet  yourself,  Elizabeth,"  said  she,  taking  a  firm  hold 
of  her  shoulder,  and  making  her  sit  down,  when  the  rolled- 
up  apron  dropped,  and  showed  itself  all  covered  with  blood- 
spots.  Selina  screamed  outright. 

Then  Elizabeth  seemed  to  become  half  conscious  that 
she  had  done  something  blamable,  or  was  at  least  a  sus- 
pected character.  Her  warmth  of  manner  faded;  the  sul- 
len cloud  of  dodged  resistance  to  authority  was  raging  in 
her  poor  dirty  face,  when  Hilary,  beginning  with  "  Now, 
we  are  not  going  to  scold  you,  but  we  must  hear  the  rea- 
son of  this,"  contrived  by  adroit  questions,  and  not  a  few 
of  them,  to  elicit  the  whole  story. 

It  appeared  that,  while  standing  at  Miss  Selina's  window, 
Elizabeth  had  watched  three  little  boys  apparently  en- 
gaged in  a  very  favorite  amusement  of  little  boys  in  that 
field — going  quickly  behind  a  horse,  and  pulling  out  the 
longest  and  handsomest  hairs  in  his  tail  to  make  fishing- 
lines  of.  She  saw  the  animal  give  a  kick,  and  two  of  the 
boys  ran  away ;  the  other  did  not  stir.  For  a  minute  or 


44  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

so  she  noticed  a  black  lump  lying  in  the  grass  ;  then,  with 
the  quick  instinct  for  which  nobody  had  ever  given  her 
credit,  she  guessed  what  had  happened,  and  did  immedi- 
ately the  wisest  and  only  thing  possible  under  the  circum- 
stances, namely,  to  snatch  up  a  towel,  run  across  the  field, 
bind  up  the  child's  head  as  well  as  she  could,  and  carry  it, 
bleeding  and  insensible,  to  the  nearest  doctor,  who  lived 
Dearly  a  mile  off. 

She  did  not  tell — and  they  only  found  it  out  afterward 
— how  she  had  held  the  boy  while  under  the  doctor's 
hands,  the  skull  being  so  badly  fractured  that  the  fright- 
ened mother  fainted  at  the  sight ;  how  she  had  finally  car- 
ried him  home,  and  left  him  comfortably  settled  in  bed,  his 
senses  returned,  and  his  life  saved. 

"Ay,  my  arms  do  ache  above  a  bit,"  she  said,  in  answer 
to  Miss  Leaf's  questions.  "  He  wasn't  quite  a  baby — nigh 
upon  twelve,  I  reckon ;  but  then  he  was  very  small  of  his 
age.  And  he  looked  just  as  if  he  was  dead — and  he  bled 
so." 

Here,  just  for  a  second  or  two,  the  color  left  the  big 
girl's  lips,  and  she  trembled  a  little.  Miss  Leaf  went  to 
the  kitchen  cupboard,  and  took  out  their  only  bottle  of 
wine — administered  in  rare  doses,  exclusively  as  medicine. 

"  Drink  this,  Elizabeth ;  and  then  go  and  wash  your  face 
and  eat  your  dinner.  We  will  talk  to  you  by-and-by." 

Elizabeth  looked  up  with  a  long,  wistful  stare  of  intense 
surprise,  and  then  added, "  Have  I  done  any  thing  wrong, 
missis  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so.     But  drink  this,  and  don't  talk,  child." 

She  was  obeyed.  By-and-by  Elizabeth  disappeared  into 
the  back  kitchen,  emerged  thence  with  a  clean  face,  handst 
and  apron,  and  went  about  her  afternoon  business  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 

Her  mistresses'  threatened  "talk"  with  her  never  came 
about.  What,  indeed,  could  they  say  ?  No  doubt  the  lit- 
tle servant  had  broken  the  strict  letter  of  domestic  law  by 
running  off  in  that  highly  eccentric  and  inconvenient  way; 
but,  as  Hilary  tried  to  explain  by  a  series  of  most  ingen- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  45 

ious  ratiocinations,  she  had  fulfilled,  in  the  spirit  of  it,  the 
very  highest  law — that  of  charity.  She  had  also  shown 
prompt  courage,  decision,  practical  and  prudent  fore- 
thought, and,  above  all,  entire  self-forgetfulness. 

"And  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Miss  Hilary,  warming 
with  her  subject,  "  if  those  are  not  the  very  qualities  which 
go  to  constitute  a  hero." 

"  But  we  don't  want  a  hero ;  we  want  a  maid-of-all- 
work." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  want,  Selina*.  We  want  a  wom- 
an— that  is,  a  girl  with  the  making  of  a  good  woman  in 
her.  If  we  can  find  that,  all  the  rest  will  follow.  For  my 
part,  I  would  rather  take  this  child,  rough  as  she  is,  but 
with  her  truthfulness,  conscientiousness,  kindliness  of  heart, 
and  evident  capability  of  both  self-control  and  self-devoted- 
ness,  than  the  most  finished  servant  we  could  find.  My 
advice  is — keep  her." 

This  settled  the  matter,  since  it  was  a  curious  fact  that 
the  "  advice"  of  the  youngest  Miss  Leaf  was,  whether  they 
knew  it  or  not,  almost  equivalent  to  a  family  ukase. 

When  Elizabeth  had  brought  in  the  tea-things,  which 
she  did  with  especial  care,  apparently  wishing  to  blot  out 
the  memory  of  the  morning's  escapade  by  astonishingly 
good  behavior  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  Miss  Leaf  called  her, 
and  asked  if  she  knew  that  her  month  of  trial  ended  this 
day. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  with  the  strict  formal  courtesy,  some- 
thing between  that  of  the  old-world  family  domestic — as 
her  mother  might  have  been  to  the  Miss  Elizabeth  Some- 
thing she  was  named  after — and  the  abrupt  "  dip"  of  the 
modern  national  school-girl,  which  constituted  Elizabeth 
Hand's  sole  experience  of  manners. 

"If  you  had  not  been  absent  I  should  have  gone  to  speak 
to  your  mother  to-day.  Indeed,  Miss  Hilary  was  going 
when  you  came  in ;  but  it  would  have  been  with  a  very 
different  intention  from  what  we  had  in  the  morning. 
However,  that  is  not  likely  to  happen  again." 

"Eh  ?"  said  Elizabeth,  inquiringly. 


46  MISTRESS    AJSD   MAID. 

Miss  Leaf  hesitated,  and  looked  uneasily  at  her  two  sis- 
ters. It  was  always  a  trial  to  her  shy  nature  to  find  her- 
self the  mouth-piece  of  the  family;  and  this  same  shyness 
made  it  still  more  difficult  to  break  through  the  stiff  bar- 
riers which  seemed  to  rise  up  between  her,  a  gentlewoman 
well  on  in  years,  and  this  coarse  working-girl.  She  felt,  as 
she  often  complained,  that  with  the  kindest  intentions  she 
did  not  quite  know  how  to  talk  to  Elizabeth. 

"  My  sister  means,"  said  Hilary, "  that  as  we  are  not  like- 
ly to  have  little  boys' half  killed  in  the  field  every  day,  she 
trusts  you  will  not  be  running  away  again  as  you  did  this 
morning.  She  feels  sure  that  you  would  not  do  such  a 
thing,  putting  us  all  to  so  great  annoyance  and  uneasiness, 
for  any  less  cause  than  such  as  happened  to-day.  You 
promise  that  V" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Hilary." 

"  Then  we  quite  forgive  you  as  regards  ourselves.  Nay" 
• — feeling,  in  spite  of  Selina's  warning  nudge,  that  she  had 
hardly  been  kind  enough — "  we  rather  praise  than  blame 
you,  Elizabeth.  And  if  you  like  to  stay  with  us,  and  will 
do  your  best  to  improve,  we  are  willing  to  keep  you  as  our 
servant." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am.  Thank  you,  Miss  Hilary.  Yes, 
I'll  stop." 

She  said  no  more,  but  sighed  a  great  sigh,  as  if  her  mind 
were  relieved — ("  So,"  thought  Hilary,  "  she  was  not  so  in- 
different to  us  as  we  imagined") — and  bustled  back  into 
her  kitchen. 

"  Now  for  the  clothing  of  her,"  observed  Miss  Leaf,  also 
looking  much  relieved  that  the  decision  was  over.  "  You 
know  what  we  agreed  upon,  and  there  is  certainly  no  time 
to  be  lost.  Hilary,  my  dear,  suppose  you  bring  down  your 
brown  merino?" 

Hilary  went  without  a  word. 

People  who  inhabit  the  same  house,  eat,  sit,  and  sleep 
together — loving  one  another  and  sympathizing  with  one 
another  ever  so  deeply  and  dearly — nevertheless  inevita- 
bly have  momentary  seasons  when  the  intense  solitude  in 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  47 

which  we  all  live,  and  must  expect  ever  to  live,  at  the 
depth  of  our  being,  forces  itself  painfully  upon  the  heart. 
Johanna  must  have  had  many  such  seasons  when  Hilary 
was  a  child ;  Hilary  had  one  now. 

She  unfolded  the  old  frock,  and  took  out.. of  its  pocket — 
a  hiding-place  at  once  little  likely  to  be  searched  and  harm- 
less if  discovered,  a  poor  little  memento  of  that  happy  mid- 
summer day : 

"Dear  Miss  Hilary, — To-morrow,  then,  I  shall  come. 
Yours  truly,  Robert  Lyon." 

The  only  scrap  of  note  she  had  ever  received ;  he  al- 
ways wrote  to  Johanna — as  regularly  as  ever,  or  more  so, 
now  Ascott  was  gone — but  only  to  Johanna.  She  read 
over  the  two  lines,  wondered  where  she  should  keep  them 
now  that  Johanna  might  not  notice  them,  and  then  recoil- 
ed, as  if  the  secret  were  a  wrong  to  that  dear  sister  who 
loved  her  so  well. 

"But  nothing  makes  me  love  her  less;  nothing  ever 
could.  She  thinks  me  quite  happy ;  so  I  am ;  and  yet — 
oh,  if  I  did  not  miss  him  so  !" 

And  the  aching,  aching  want  which  sometimes  came 
over  her  began  again.  Let  us  not  blame  her.  God  made 
all  our  human  needs.  God  made  love ;  not  merely  affec- 
tion, but  actual  love — the  necessity  to  seek  and  find  out 
some  other  being;  not  another,  but  the  complement  of 
one's  self — the  "  other  half"  who  brings  rest  and  strength 
for  weakness,  sympathy  in  aspiration,  and  tenderness  for 
tenderness,  as  no  other  person  ever  can.  Perhaps,  even  in 
marriage,  this  love  is  seldom  found,  and  it  is  possible  in  nil 
lives  to  do  without  it.  Johanna  had  done  so.  But  then 
she  had  been  young,  and  was  now  growing  old ;  and  Hila- 
ry was  only  twenty,  with  a  long  life  before  her.  Poor 
child  !  let  us  not  blame  her. 

She  was  not  in  the  least  sentimental,  her  natural  dispo- 
sition inclining  her  to  be  more  than  cheerful—  actually  gay. 
She  soon  recovered  herself;  and  when,  a  short  time  after, 
she  stood,  scissors  in  hand,  demonstrating  how  very  easy 
it  was  to  make  something  out  of  nothing,  her  sisters  never 


48  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

suspected  how  very  near  tears  had  lately  been  to  those 
bright  eyes,  which  were  always  the  sunshine  of  the  house. 

"  You  are  giving  yourself  a  world  of  trouble,"  said  Seli- 
na.  "If  I  were  you  I  would  just  make  over  the  dress  to 
Elizabeth,  and  let  her  do  what  she  could  with  it." 

"My  dear,  I  always  find  I  give  myself  twice  the  trouble 
by  expecting  people  to  do  what  they  can't  do.  I  have  to 
do  it  myself  afterward.  Prove  how  a  child  who  can't  even 
handle  a  needle  and  thread  is  competent  to  make  a  gown 
for  herself,  and  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  secede  in  her  fa- 
vor." 

"  Nay,"  put  in  the  eldest  sister,  afraid  of  a  collision  of 
words,  "  Selina  is  right ;  if  you  do  not  teach  Elizabeth  to 
make  her  own  gowns,  how  can  she  learn  ?" 

"  Johanna,  you  are  the  brilliantest  of  women !  and  you 
know  you  don't  like  the  parlor  littered  with  rags  and  cut- 
tings. You  wish  to  get  rid  of  me  for  the  evening?  Well, 
I'll  go  !  Hand  me  the  work-basket  and  the  bundle,  and  I'll 
give  my  first  lesson  in  dress-making  to  our  South-Sea  Isl- 
ander." 

But  Fate  stood  in  the  way  of  Miss  Hilary's  good  inten- 
tions. 

She  found  Elizabeth,  not  as  was  her  wont,  always  busy 
over  the  perpetual  toil  of  those  who  have  not  yet  learned 
the  mysterious  art  of  arrangement  and  order,  nor,  as  some- 
times, hanging  sleepily  over  the  kitchen  fire,  waiting  for 
bedtime,  but  actually  sitting — sitting  down  at  the  table. 
Her  candle  was  flaring  on  one  side  of  her ;  on  the  other 
was  the  school-room  ink-stand,  a  scrap  of  waste  paper,  and 
a  pen.  But  she  was  not  writing ;  she  sat  with  her  head 
on  her  hands,  in  an  attitude  of  disconsolate  idleness,  so  ab- 
sorbed that  she  seemed  not  to  hear  Hilary's  approach. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  could  write,  Elizabeth." 

"  No  more  I  can,"  was  the  answer,  in  the  most  doleful  of 
voices.  "  It  bean't  no  good.  I've  forgotten  all  about  it 
T' letters  wonnajoin." 

"  Let  me  look  at  them."  And  Hilary  tried  to  contem 
plate  gravely  the  scrawled  and  blotted  page,  which  looked 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  49 

very  much  as  if  a  large  spider  had  walked  into  the  ink- 
bottle  and  then  walked  out  again  on  a  tour  of  investiga- 
tion. "  What  did  you  want  to  write  ?"  asked  she,  sud- 
denly. 

Elizabeth  blushed  violently.  "  It  was  the  woman,  Mrs. 
Cliffe,  t'  little  lad's  mother,  you  know ;  she  wanted  some- 
body to  write  to  her  husband  as  is  at  work  in  Birming- 
ham, and  I  said  I  would.  I'd  learned  at  the  National,  but 
I've  forgotten  it  all.  I'm  just  as  Miss  Selina  says — I'm 
good  for  nowt." 

"  Come,  come,  never  fret ;"  for  there  was  a  sort  of  choke 
in  the  girl's  voice.  "There's  many  a  good  person  who 
never  learned  to  write.  But  I  don't  see  why  you  should 
not  learn.  Shall  I  teach  you  ?" 

Utter  amazement,  beaming  gratitude,  succeeded  one  an- 
other plain  as  light  in  Elizabeth's  eyes ;  but  she  only  said, 
"Thank  you,  Miss  Hilary." 

"Very  well.  I  have  brought  you  an  old  gown  of  mine, 
and  was  going  to  show  you  how  to  make  it  up  for  your- 
self, but  I'll  look  over  your  writing  instead.  Sit  down,  and 
let  me  see  what  you  can  do." 

In  a  state  of  nervous  trepidation  pitiful  to  behold,  Eliza- 
beth took  the  pen.  Terrible  scratching  resulted  ;  blots  in- 
numerable ;  and  one  fatal  deluge  of  ink,  which  startled 
from  their  seats  both  mistress  and  maid,  and  made  Hilary 
thankful  that  she  had  taken  off  her  better  gown  for  a  com- 
mon one,  as,  with  sad  thriftiness,  the  Misses  Leaf  always 
did  of  evenings. 

When  Elizabeth  saw  the  mischief  she  had  done,  her  con- 
trition and  humility  were  unbounded.  "  No,  Miss  Hilary, 
you  can't  make  nothin'  of  me.  I  be  too  stupid.  I'll  give 
it  up." 

"  Nonsense  !"  And  the  bright,  active  little  lady  looked 
steadily  into  the  heavy  face  of  this  undeveloped  girl,  half 
child,  half  woman,  until  some  of  her  own  spirit  seemed  to 
be  reflected  there.  Whether  the  excitement  of  the  morn- 
ing had  roused  her,  or  her  mistresses'  kindness  had  touched 
Elizabeth's  heart,  and — as  in  most  women — the  heart  was 

0 


50  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

the  key  to  the  intellect;  or  whether  the  gradual  daily  in- 
fluence of  her  changed  life  during  the  last  month  had  been 
taking  eifect,  now  for  the  first  time  to  appear,  certain  it  is 
that  Hilary  had  never  perceived  before  what  an  extremely 
intelligent  face  it  was — what  good  sense  was  indicated  in 
the  well-shaped  head  and  forehead — what  tenderness  and 
feeling  in  the  deep-set  gray  eyes. 

"  Nonsense,"  repeated  she.  "  Never  give  up  any  thing ; 
I  never  would.  We'll  try  a  different  plan,  and  begin  from 
the  beginning,  as  I  do  with  my  little  scholars.  Wait  while 
I  fetch  a  copy-book  out  of  the  parlor  press." 

She  highly  amused  her  sisters  with  a  description  of  what 
she  called  "her  newly-instituted  Polynesian  Academy,"  re- 
turned, and  set  to  work  to  guide  the  rough,  coarse  hand 
through  the  mysteries  of  caligraphy. 

To  say  this  was  an  easy  task  would  not  be  true.  Na 
ture's  own  laws  and  limits  make  the  using  of  faculties 
which  have  been  unused  for  generations  very  difficult  at 
lirst.  To  suppose  that  a  working  man,  the  son  of  working 
men,  who  applies  himself  to  study,  does  it  with  as  little 
trouble  as  your  upper-class  children,  who  have  been  uncon- 
sciously undergoing  education  ever  since  the  cradle,  is  a 
great  mistake.  All  honor,  therefore,  to  those  who  do  at- 
tempt, and  to  ever  so  small  a  degree  succeed  in  the  best 
and  surest  culture  of  all,  self-culture. 

Of  this  honor  Elizabeth  deserved  her  share. 

"  She  is  stupid  enough,"  Hilary  confessed,  after  the  les- 
son was  over;  "but  there  is  a  dogged  perseverance  about 
the  girl  which  I  actually  admire.  She  blots  her  fingers, 
her  nose,  her  apron,  but  she  never  gives  in  ;  and  she  sticks 
to  the  grand  principle  of  one  thing  at  a  time.  I  think  she 
did  two  whole  pages  of  a's,  and  really  performed  them  sat- 
isfactorily, before  she  asked  to  go  on  to  b's.  Yes,  I  be- 
lieve she  will  do." 

"I  hope  she  will  do  her  work,  any  how,"  said  Selina, 
breaking  into  the  conversation  rather  crossly.  "  I'm  sure 
I  don't  see  the  good  of  wasting  time  over  teaching  Eliza- 
beth to  write  when  there's  so  much  to  be  done  in  the  house 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  51 

by  one  and  all  of  us  from  Monday  morning  till  Saturday 
night." 

"  Ay,  that's  it,"  answered  Hilary,  meditatively.  "  I  don't 
see  how  I  ever  shall  get  time  to  teach  her,  and  she  is  so 
tired  of  nights  when  the  work  is  all  done;  she'll  be  drop- 
ping asleep  with  the  pen  in  her  hand — I  have  done  it  my- 
self before  now." 

Ay,  in  those  days  when,  trying  so  hard  to  "  improve  her 
mind,"  and  make  herself  a  little  more  equal  and  compan- 
ionable to  another  mind  she  knew,  she  had,  after  her  daily 
house  cares  and  her  six  hours  of  school-teaching,  attempted 
at  nine  P.M.  to  begin  close  study  on  her  own  account.  And 
though  with  her  strong  will  she  succeeded  tolerably,  still, 
as  she  told  Johanna,  she  could  well  understand  how  slow 
was  the  "  march  of  intellect"  (a  phrase  which  had  just 
then  come  up)  among  day-laborers  and  the  like ;  and  how 
difficult  it  was  for  these  Mechanics'  Institutions,  which 
were  now  talked  so  much  of,  to  put  any  new  ideas  into  the 
poor  tired  heads,  rendered  sluggish  and  stupid  with  hard 
bodily  labor. 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  hold  my  Polynesian  Academy  on  a 
Sunday?"  and  she  looked  inquiringly  at  her  sisters,  espe- 
cially Johanna. 

Now  the  Misses  Leaf  were  old-fashioned  country-folk, 
who  lived  before  the  words  Sabbatarian  and  un-Sabbatari- 
an  had  ever  got  into  the  English  language.  They  simply 
"remembered  the  Sabbath-day  to  keep  it  holy;"  they  ar- 
ranged so  as  to  make  it  for  all  the  household  a  day  of  rest; 
and  they  went  regularly  to  church  once — sometimes  Selina 
and  Hilary  went  twice.  For  the  intervening  hours,  their 
usual  custom  was  to  take  an  afternoon  walk  in  the  fields : 
begun  chiefly  for  Ascott's  sake,  to  keep  the  lad  out  of  mis- 
chief, and  put  into  his  mind  better  thoughts  than  he  was 
likely  to  get  from  his  favorite  Sunday  recreation  of  sitting 
on  the  wall  throwing  stones.  After  he  left  for  London 
there  was  Elizabeth  to  be  thought  of;  and  they  decided 
that  the  best  Sabbath  duty  for  the  little  servant  was  to  go 
and  see  her  mother.  So  they  gave  her  every  Sunday  aft- 


52  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

ernoon  free,  only  requiring  that  she  should  be  at  home 
punctually  after  church-time,  at  eight  o'clock.  But  from 
thence  till  bedtime  was  a  blank  two  hours,  which,  Hilary 
had  noticed,  Elizabeth  not  unfrequently  spent  in  dozing 
over  the  fire. 

"  And  I  wonder,"  said  she,  giving  the  end  of  her  long 
meditation  out  loud,  "  whether  going  to  sleep  is  not  as 
much  Sabbath-breaking  as  learning  to  write?  What  do 
you  say,  Johanna  ?" 

Johanna,  simple,  God-fearing  woman  as  she  was,  to  whom 
faith  and  love  came  as  natural  as  the  breath  she  drew,  had 
never  perplexed  herself  with  the  question.  She  only  smiled 
acquiescence.  But  Selina  was  greatly  shocked.  Teaching 
to  write  on  a  Sunday  !  Bringing  the  week-day  work  into 
the  day  of  rest !  Doing  one's  own  pleasure  on  the  holy 
clay !  She  thought  it  exceedingly  wrong.  Such  a  thing 
had  never  been  heard  of  in  their  house.  Whatever  else 
might  be  said  of  them,  the  Leafs  were  always  a  respecta- 
ble family  as  to  keeping  Sunday.  Nobody  could  say  that 
even  poor  Henry — 

But  here  Selina's  torrent  of  words  stopped. 

When  conversation  revived,  Hilary,  who  had  been  at 
first  half  annoyed  and  half  amused,  resumed  her  point  se- 
riously. 

"I  might  say  that  writing  isn't  Elizabeth's  week-day 
work,  and  that  teaching  her  is  not  exactly  doing  my  own 
pleasure  ;  but  I  won't  creep  out  of  the  argument  by  a  quib- 
ble. The  question  is,  What  is  keeping  the  Sabbath-day 
'holy?'  I  say — and  I  stick  to  my  opinion — that  it  is  by 
making  it  a  day  of  worship,  a  rest  day — a  cheerful  and 
happy  day — and  by  doing  as  much  good  in  it  as  we  can ; 
and,  therefore,  I  mean  to  teach  Elizabeth  on  a  Sunday." 

"  She'll  never  understand  it.     She'll  consider  it  '  work.' " 

"And  if  she  did,  work  is  a  more  religious  thing  than 
idleness.  I  am  sure  I  often  feel  that,  of  the  two,  I  should 
be  less  sinful  in  digging  potatoes  in  my  garden,  or  sitting 
mending  stockings  in  my  parlor,  than  in  keeping  Sunday 
as  some  people  do— going  to  church  genteelly  in  my  best 


MISTRESS    AND   MAIIX  53 

clothes,  eating  a  huge  Sunday  dinner,  and  then  nodding 
over  a  good  book,  or  taking  a  regular  Sunday  nap,  till  bed- 
time." 

"  Hush,  child  !"  said  Johanna,  reprovingly ;  for  Hilary's 
cheeks  were  red,  and  her  voice  angry.  She  was  taking  the 
hot,  youthful  part,  which,  in  its  hatred  of  shams  and  forms, 
sometimes  leads — and  not  seldom  led  poor  Hilary — a  little 
too  far  on  the  other  side.  "  I  think,"  Miss  Leaf  added, 
44  that  our  business  is  with  ourselves,  and  not  with  our 
neighbors.  Let  us  keep  the  Sabbath  according  to  our  con- 
science. Only,  I  would  take  care  never  to  do  any  thing 
which  jarred  against  my  neighbor's  feelings.  I  would,  like 
Paul, 'eat  no  meat  while  the  world  standeth'  rather  than 
'make  my  brother  to  offend.'" 

Hilary  looked  in  her  sister's  sweet,  calm  face,  and  the 
anger  died  out  of  her  own. 

"  Shall  I  give  up  my  academy  ?"  she  said,  softly. 

"No,  my  love.  It  is  lawful  to  do  good  on  the  Sabbath- 
day,  and  teaching  a  poor  ignorant  girl  to  write  is  an  abso- 
lute good.  Make  her  understand  that,  and  you  need  not 
be  afraid  of  any  harm  ensuing." 

"  You  never  will  make  her  understand,"  said  Selina,  sul- 
lenly. "She  is  only  a  servant." 

"  Nevertheless,  I'll  try." 

Hilary  could  not  tell  how  far  she  succeeded  in  simplify- 
ing to  the  young  servant's  comprehension  this  great  ques- 
tion, involving  so  many  points— such  as  the  following  of 
the  spirit  and  the  letter,  the  law  of  duty  and  the  compul- 
sion of  love,  which,  as  she  spoke,  seemed  opening  out  so 
widely  and  awfully  that  she  herself  involuntarily  shrank 
from  it,  and  wondered  that  poor  finite  creatures  should 
ever  presume  to  squabble  about  it  at  all. 

But  one  thing  the  girl  did  understand— her  young  mis- 
tress's kindness.  She  stood  watching  the  little  delicate 
hand  that  had  so  patiently  guided  hers,  and  now  wrote 
copy  after  copy  for  her  future  benefit.  At  last  she  said, 

"  You're  taking  a  deal  o'  trouble  wi'  a  poor  wench,  and 
it's  very  kind  in  a  lady  like  you." 


54  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

Miss  Hilary  was  puzzled  what  answer  to  make.  True 
enough,  it  was  "  kind,"  and  she  was  a  "  lady ;"  and  between 
her  and  Mrs.  Hand's  rough  daughter  was  an  unmistakable 
difference  and  distinction.  That  Elizabeth  perceived  it 
was  proved  by  her  growing  respectfulness  of  manner — the 
more  respectful,  it  seemed,  the  more  she  herself  improved. 
Yet  Hilary  could  not  bear  to  make  her  feel  more  sharply 
than  was  unavoidable  the  great  gulf  that  lies,  and  ever 
must  lie — not  so  much  between  mistress  and  servant,  in 
their  abstract  relation — (and  yet  that  is  right,  for  the  rela- 
tion and  authority  is  ordained  of  God) — but  between  the 
educated  and  the  ignorant,  the  coarse  and  the  refined. 

"Well,"  she  said,  after  a  pause  of  consideration, "  you  al- 
ways have  it  in  your  power  to  repay  my  *  kindness,'  as  you 
call  it.  The  cleverer  you  become,  the  more  useful  you  will 
be  to  me ;  and  the  more  good  you  grow,  the  better  I  shall 
Mke  you." 

Elizabeth  smiled — that  wonderfully  bright,  sudden  smile 
which  seemed  to  cover  over  all  her  plainness  of  feature. 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  Hilary  resumed  by-and-by, "  when 
England  was  very  different  from  what  it  is  now,  English 
ladies  used  to  have  what  they  call  '  bower-women,'  whom 
they  took  as  girls,  and  brought  up  in  their  service ;  teach- 
ing them  all  sorts  of  things — cooking,  sewing,  spinning, 
singing,  and,  probably,  except  that  the  ladies  of  that  time 
were  very  ill  educated  themselves,  to  read  and  write  also. 
They  used  to  spend  part  of  every  day  among  their  bower- 
women;  and  as  people  can  only  enjoy  the  company  of  those 
with  whom  they  have  some  sympathy  in  common,  we  must 
conclude  that — " 

Here  Hilary  stopped,  recollecting  she  must  be  discours- 
ing miles  above  the  head  of  her  little  bower-maiden,  and 
that,  perhaps,  after  all,  her  theory  would  be'  best  kept  to 
herself,  and  only  demonstrated  practically. 

"  So,  Elizabeth,  if  I  spend  a  little  of  my  time  in  teaching 
you,  you  must  grow  up  my  faithful  and  attached  bower- 
maiden." 

"  I'll  grow  up  any  thing,  Miss  Hilary,  if  it's  to  please 


MISTRESS    AXD    MAID.  55 

you,"  was  the  answer,  given  with  a  smothered  intensity 
that  quite  startled  the  young  mistress. 

"  I  do  believe  the  girl  is  getting  fond  of  me,"  said  she, 
half  touched,  half  laughing,  to  Johanna.  "  If  so,  we  shall 
get  on.  It  is  just  as  with  our  school-children,  you  know. 
We  have  to  seize  hold  of  their  hearts  first,  and  their  heads 
afterward.  Now  Elizabeth's  head  may  be  uncommonly 
touofh,  but  I  do  believe  she  likes  me." 

O      " 

Johanna  smiled ;  but  she  would  not  for  the  world  have 
said — never  encouraging  the  smallest  vanity  in  her  child 
— that  she  did  not  think  this  circumstance  so  very  remark- 
able. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  HOUSEHOLD  exclusively  composed  of  women  has  its 
advantages  and  its  disadvantages.  It  is  apt  to  become 
somewhat  narrow  in  judgment,  morbid  in  feeling,  absorb- 
ed in  petty  interests,  and  bounding  its  vision  of  outside 
things  to  the  small  horizon  which  it  sees  from  its  own  fire- 
side. But,  on  the  other  hand,  by  this  fireside  often  abides 
a  settled  peace  and  purity,  a  long-suffering,  generous  for- 
bearance, and  an  enduring  aifectionateness  which  the  oth- 
er sex  can  hardly  comprehend  or  credit.  Men  will  not  be- 
lieve, what  is  nevertheless  the  truth,  that  we  can  "  stand 
alone"  much  better  than  they  can  ;  that  we  can  do  without 
them  far  easier,  and  with  less  deterioration  of  character, 
than  they  can  do  without  us ;  that  we  are  better  able  to 
provide  for  ourselves  interests,  duties,  and  pleasures;  in 
short,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  that  we  have  more  real 
self-sustaining  independence  than  they. 

Of  course,  that  the  true  life,  the  highest  life,  is  that  of 
man  and  woman  united,  no  one  will  be  insane  enough  to 
cleny ;  I  am  speaking  of  the  substitute  for  it,  which  poor  hu- 
manity has  so  often  to  fall  back  upon  and  make  the  best  of 
--a  better  best  very  frequently  than  what  appears  best  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  In  truth,  many  a  troubled,  care-rid- 
den, wealthy  family,  torn  with  dissensions,  or  frozen  up  in 


50  MISTKESS    AND   MAID. 

splendid  formalities,  might  have  envied  that  quiet,  humble 
maiden  household  of  the  Misses  Leaf,  where  their  only  trial 
was  poverty,  and  their  only  grief  the  one  which  they  knew 
the  worst  of,  and  had  met  patiently  for  many  a  year — poor 
Selina's  "  way." 

I  doubt  not  it  was  good  for  Elizabeth  Hand  that  her  first 
place — the  home  in  which  she  received  her  first  impressions 
— was  this  feminine  establishment,  simple  and  regular,  in 
which  was  neither  waste  nor  disorder  allowed.  Good,  too, 
that  while  her  mistresses'  narrow  means  restricted  her  in 
many  things  enjoyed  by  servants  in  richer  families,  their 
interests,  equally  narrow,  caused  to  be  concentrated  upon 
herself  a  double  measure  of  thought  and  care.  She  became 
absolutely  "  one  of  the  family,"  sharing  in  all  its  concerns. 
From  its  small  arid  few  carnal  luxuries — such  as  the  cake, 
fruit,  or  pot  of  preserves,  votive  offerings  from  pupils'  par- 
ents— up  to  the  newspaper  and  the  borrowed  book,  noth- 
ing was  either  literally  or  metaphorically  "  locked  up" 
from  Elizabeth. 

This  grand  question  of  locking-up  had  been  discussed  in 
full  conclave  the  day  after  her  month  of  probation  ended, 
the  sisters  taking  opposite  sides,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Selina  was  for  the  immediate  introduction  of  a 
locksmith  and  a  key-basket. 

"While  she  was  only  on  trial  it  did  not  so  much  signi- 
fy; besides,  if  it  did,  we  had  only  buttons  on  the  press- 
doors  ;  but  now  she  is  our  regular  servant  we  ought  to  in- 
stitute a  regular  system  of  authority.  How  can  she  re- 
spect a  family  that  never  locks  up  any  thing  ?" 

"  How  can  we  respect  a  servant  from  whom  we  lock  up 
every  thing  ?" 

"  Respect  a  servant !     What  do  you  mean,  Hilary  ?" 

"I  mean  that  if  I  did  not  respect  a  servant  I  would  be 
very  sorry  to  keep  her  one  day  in  any  house  of  mine." 

"  Wait  till  you've  a  house  of  your  own  to  keep,  miss," 
said  Selina,  crossly.  "I  never  heard  such  nonsense.  Is 
that  the  way  you  mean  to  behave  to  Elizabeth?  leave  ev- 
ery thing  open  to  her — clothes,  books,  money ;  trust  her 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  57 

with  all  your  secrets;  treat  her  as  your  most  particular 
friend  ?" 

"  A  girl  of  fifteen  would  be  rather  an  inconvenient  par- 
ticular friend  !  And  I  have  happily  few  secrets  to  trust 
her  with.  But  if  I  could  not  trust  her  with  our  coffee,  tea, 
sugar,  and  so  on,  and  bring  her  up  from  the  very  first  in 
the  habit  of  being  trusted,  I  would  recommend  her  being 
sent  away  to-morrow." 

"  Very  fine  talking  ;  and  what  do  you  say,  Johanna  ? — 
if  that  is  not  an  unnecessary  question  after  Hilary  has 
given  her  opinion." 

"I  think,"  replied  the  elder  sister,  taking  no  notice  of 
the  long-familiar  innuendo,  "that  in  this  case  Hilary  is 
right.  How  people  ought  to  manage  in  great  houses  I 
can  not  say,  but  in  our  small  house  it  will  be  easier  and 
better  not  to  alter  our  simple  ways.  Trusting  the  girl,  if 
she  is  a  good  girl,  will  only  make  her  the  more  trustwor- 
thy ;  if  she  is  bad,  we  shall  the  sooner  find  it  out  and  let 
her  go." 

But  Elizabeth  did  not  go.  A  year  passed ;  two  years  ; 
her  wages  were  raised,  and  with  them  her  domestic  posi- 
tion. From  a  "girl"  she  was  converted  into  a  regular 
servant ;  her  pinafores  gave  place  to  grown-up  gowns  and 
aprons,  and  her  rough  head,  at  Miss  Selina's  incessant  in- 
stance, was  concealed  by  a  cap — caps  being  considered  by 
that  lady  as  the  proper  and  indispensable  badge  of  serv- 
anthood. 

To  say  that  during  her  transition  state,  or  even  now  that 
she  had  reached  the  cap  era,  Elizabeth  gave  her  mistresses 
no  trouble,  would  be  stating  a  self-evident  improbability. 
What  young  lass  under  seventeen,  of  any  rank,  does  not 
cause  plenty  of  trouble  to  her  natural  guardians  ?  Who 
can  "  put  an  old  head  on  young  shoulders  ?"  or  expect  from 
girls  at  the  most  unformed  and  unsatisfactory  period  of 
life  that  complete  moral  and  mental  discipline,  that  unfail- 
ing self-control,  that  perfection  of  temper  and  every  thing 
else,  which,  o£»course,  all  mistresses  always  have? 

I  am  obliged  to  confess  that  Elizabeth  had  a  few — nay, 
C2 


58  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

not  a  few — most  obstinate  faults ;  that  no  child  tries  its 
parents,  no  pupil  its  school-teachers,  more  than  she  tried 
her  three  mistresses  at  intervals.  She  was  often  thought- 
less and  careless,  brusque  in  her  manner,  slovenly  in  her 
dress  ;  sometimes  she  was  downright  "  bad" — filled  full,  as 
some  of  her  elders  and  betters  are  at  all  ages,  with  absolute 
naughtiness  ;  when  she  would  sulk  for  hours  and  days  to- 
gether, and  make  the  whole  family  uncomfortable,  as  many 
a  servant  can  make  many  a  family  small  as  that  of  the 
Misses  Leaf. 

But  still  they  never  lost  what  Hilary  termed  their  "re- 
spect" for  Elizabeth ;  they  never  found  her  out  in  a  lie,  a 
meanness,  or  an  act  of  deception  or  dishonesty.  They  took 
her  faults  as  we  must  take  the  surface-faults  of  all  connect- 
ed with  us — patiently  rather  than  resentfully,  seeking  to 
correct  rather  than  to  punish.  And  though  there  were 
difficult  elements  in  the  household,  such  as  there  being 
ihree  mistresses  to  be  obeyed — the  youngest  mistress  a 
thought  too  lax,  and  the  second  one  undoubtedly  too  se- 
vere— still  no  girl  could  live  with  these  high-principled, 
much-enduring  women  without  being  impressed  with  two 
things  which  the  serving  class  are  slowest  to  understand 
— the  dignity  of  poverty,  and  the  beauty  of  that  which  is 
,he  only  effectual  law  to  bring  out  good  and  restrain  evil, 
the  law  of  loving-kindness. 

Two  fracases,  however,  must  be  chronicled,  for  after  both 
the  girl's  dismissal  hung  on  a  thread.  The  first  was  when 
Mrs.  Cliffe,  mother  of  Tommy  Cliffe,  who  was  nearly  killed 
in  the  field,  being  discovered  to  be  an  ill  sort  of  woman, 
and  in  the  habit  of  borrowing  from  Elizabeth  stray  shil- 
lings which  were  never  returned,  was  forbidden  the  house, 
Elizabeth  resented  it  so  fiercely  that  she  sulked  for  a  whole 
week  afterward. 

The  other  and  still  more  dangerous  crisis  in  Elizabeth's 
destiny  was  when  a  volume  of  Scott's  novels,  having  been 
missing  for  some  days,  was  found  hidden  in  her  bed,  and 
she  lying  awake  reading  it,  was  thus  ignominiously  discov- 
ered at  eleven  P.M.  by  Miss  Selina,  in  consequence  of  the 
gleam  of  candle-light  from  under  her  door. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  59 

It  was  true,  neither  of  these  errors  were  actual  moral 
crimes.  Hilary  even  roused  a  volley  of  sharp  words  upon 
herself  by  declaring  they  had  their  source  in  actual  virtues ; 
that  a  girl  who  would  stint  herself  of  shillings,  and  hold 
resolutely  to  any  liking  she  had,  even  if  unworthy,  had  a 
creditable  amount  of  both  self-denial  and  fidelity  in  her 
disposition.  Also  that  a  tired-out  maid-of-all-work,  who 
was  kept  awake  of  nights  by  her  ardent  appreciation  of 
the  "Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  must  possess  a  degree  of  both 
intellectual  and  moral  capacity  Avhich  deserved  cultivation 
rather  than  blame.  And  though  this  surreptitious  pursuit 
of  literature  under  difficulties  could  not,  of  course,  be  al- 
lowed, I  grieve  to  say  that  Miss  Hilary  took  every  oppor- 
tunity of  not  only  giving  the  young  servant  books  to  read, 
but  of  talking  to  her  about  them.  And  also  that  a  large 
proportion  of  these  books  were,  to  Miss  Selina's  unmitiga- 
ted horror,  absolutely  fiction  ! — stories,  novels,  even  poet- 
ry— books  that  Hilary  liked  herself—books  that  had  built 
up  in  her  her  own  passionate  dream  of  life  ;  wherein  all  the 
women  were  faithful,  tender,  heroic,  self-devoted,  and  all 
the  men  were — something  not  unlike  Robert  Lyon. 

Did  she  do  harm  ?  Was  it,  as  Selina  and  even  Johanna 
said  sometimes,  "dangerous"  thus  to  put  before  Elizabeth 
a  standard  of  ideal  perfection,  a  Quixotic  notion  of  life — 
life  in  its  full  purpose,  power,  and  beauty — such  as  other- 
wise never  could  have  crossed  the  mind  of  this  poor  work- 
ing-girl, born  of  parents  who,  though  respectable  and  wor- 
thy, were  in  no  respect  higher  than  the  common  work- 
ing class?  I  will  not  argue  the  point:  I  am  not  making 
Elizabeth  a  text  for  a  sermon ;  I  am  simply  writing  her 
story. 

One  thing  was  certain — that  by  degrees  the  young  wom- 
an's faults  lessened ;  even  that  worst  of  them,  the  unmis- 
takable bad  temper,  not  aggressive,  but  obstinately  sullen, 
which  made  her  and  Miss  Selina  sometimes  not  on  speak- 
ing terms  for  a  week  together.  But  she  simply  "  sulked  ;" 
she  never  grumbled  or  was  pert ;  and  she  did  her  work 
just  as  usual,  with  a  kind  of  dogged  struggle  not  only 


60  MISTEESS    AND    MAID. 

against  the  superior  powers,  but  against  something  within 
herself  much  harder  to  fight  with. 

"  She  makes  me  feel  more  sorry  for  her  than  angry  with 
her,"  Miss  Leaf  would  sometimes  say,  corakig  out  of  the 
kitchen  with  that  grieved  face  which  was  the  chief  sign 
of  displeasure  her  sweet  nature  ever  betrayed.  "She  will 
have  up-hill  work  through  life,  like  us  all,  and  more  than 
many  of  us,  poor  child  !" 

But  gradually  Elizabeth,  too,  copying  involuntarily  the 
rest  of  the  family,  learned  to  put  up  with  Miss  Selina,  who, 
on  her  part,  kept  a  sort  of  armed  neutrality.  And  once, 
when  a  short  but  sharp  illness  of  Johanna's  shook  the 
household  from  its  even  tenor,  startled  every  body  out  of 
their  little  tempers,  and  made  them  cling  together  and 
work  together  in  a  sort  of  fear-stricken  union  against  one 
common  grief,  Selina  allowed  that  they  might  have  gone 
farther  and  fared  worse  on  the  day  they  engaged  Eliza- 
beth. 

After  this  illness  of  his  aunt  Ascott  came  home.  It  was 
his  first  visit  since  he  had  gone  to  London ;  Mr.  Ascott,  he 
said,  objected  to  holidays.  But  now,  from  some  unexplain- 
ed feeling,  Johanna  in  her  convalescence  longed  after  the 
boy — no  longer  a  boy,  however,  but  nearly  twenty,  and 
looking  fully  his  age.  How  proud  his  aunts  were  to  march 
him  up  the  town,  and  hear  every  body's  congratulations  on 
his  good  looks  and  polished  manners  !  It  was  the  old  sto- 
ry— old  as  the  hills  !  I  do  not  pretend  to  invent  any  thing 
new.  Women,  especially  maiden  aunts,  will  repeat  the 
tale  till  the  end  of  time,  so  long  as  they  have  youths  be- 
longing to  them  on  whom  to  expend  their  natural  tenden- 
cy to  clinging  fondness,  and  ignorant,  innocent  hero-wor- 
ship. The  Misses  Leaf— ay,  even  Selina,  whose  irritation 
against  the  provoking  boy  was  quite  mollified  by  the  ele- 
gant young  man — were  no  wiser  than  their  neighbors. 

But  there  was  one  person  in  the  household  who  still  ob- 
stinately refused  to  bow  the  knee  to  Ascott.  Whether  it 
was,  as  psychologists  might  explain,  some  instinctive  po- 
larity in  their  natures,  or  whether,  having  once  conceived 


MISTKESS    AND    MAID.  Cl 

a  prejudice,  Elizabeth  held  on  to  it  like  grim  death,  still 
there  was  the  same  unspoken  antagonism  between  them. 
The  young  fellow  took  little  notice  of  her  except  to  ob- 
serve "that  she  hadn't  grown  any  handsomer;"  but  Eliza- 
beth watched  him  with  a  keen  severity  that  overlooked 
nothing,  and  resisted,  with  a  passive  pertinacity  that  was 
quite  irresistible,  all  his  encroachments  on  the  family  hab- 
its, all  the  little  self-pleasing  ways  which  Ascott  had  been 
so  used  to  of  old  that  neither  he  nor  his  aunts  apparently 
recognized  them  as  selfish. 

" I  canna  bear  to  see  him"  (" can  not"  suggested  her 
mistress,  who,  not  seeing  any  reason  why  Elizabeth  should 
not  speak  the  Queen's  English  as  well  as  herself,  had  insti- 
tuted A's,  and  stopped  a  few  more  glaring  provincialisms). 
"  I  can  not  bear  to  see  him,  Miss  Hilary,  lolling  on  the  arm- 
chair when  missis  looks  so  tired  and  pale,  and  sitting  up 
o'  nights,  burning  double  fires,  and  going  up  stairs  at  last 
with  his  boots  on,  waking  every  body.  I  dunnot  like  it,  I 
say." 

"You  forget;  Mr.  Ascott  has  his  studies.'  He  must  work 
for  his  next  examination." 

"  Why  doesn't  he  get  up  of  a  morning,  then,  instead  of 
lying  in  bed,  and  keeping  the  breakfast  about  till  ten  ? 
Why  can't  he  do  his  learning  by  daylight?  Daylight's 
cheaper  than  mould  candles,  and  a  deal  better  for  the  eyes." 

Hilary  was  puzzled.  A  truth  was  a  truth,  and  to  try 
and  make  it  out  otherwise,  even  for  the  dignity  of  the  fam- 
ily, was  something  from  which  her  honest  nature  revolted. 
Besides,  the  sharp-sighted  servant  would  be  the  first  to  de- 
tect the  inconsistency  of  one  law  of  right  for  the  parlor 
and  another  for  the  kitchen.  So  she  took  refuge  in  silence 
and  in  the  apple-pudding  she  was  making. 

But  she  resolved  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  giving 
Ascott,  by  way  of  novelty,  the  severest  lecture  that  tongue 
of  aunt  could  bestow.  And  this  chance  occurred  the  same 
afternoon,  when  the  other  two  aunts  had  gone  out  to  tea 
to  a  house  which  Ascott  voted  "  slow,"  and  declined  going 
to.  She  remained  to  make  tea  for  him,  arid  in  the  mean 


62  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

time  took  him  for  a  constitutional  up  and  down  the  public 
walks  hard  by. 

Ascott  listened  at  first  very  good-humoredly,  once  or 
twice  calling  her  "a  dear  little  prig"  in  his  patronizing 
way — he  was  rather  fond  of  patronizing  his  Aunt  Hilary. 
But  when  she  seriously  spoke  of  his  duties,  as  no  longer  a 
boy,  but  a  man,  who  ought  now  to  assume  the  true,  manly 
right  of  thinking  for  and  taking  care  of  other  people,  espe- 
cially his  aunts,  Ascott  began  to  flush  up  angrily. 

"  Now  stop  that,  Aunt  Hilary  ;  I'll  not  have  you  coming 
Mr.  Lyon  over  me." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

For  of  late  Ascott  had  said  very  little  about  Mr.  Lyon 
— not  half  so  much  as  Mr.  Lyon,  in  his  steadily  persistent 
letters  to  Miss  Leaf,  told  her  about  her  nephew  Ascott. 

"  I  mean  that  I'll  not  be  preached  to  like  that  by  a  wom- 
an. It's  bad  enough  to  have  to  stand  it  from  a  man ;  but 
then  Lyon's  a  real  sharp  fellow,  who  knows  the  world, 
which  women  don't,  Aunt  Hilary.  Besides,  he  coaches  me 
in  my  Latin  and  Greek ;  so  I  let  him  pitch  into  me  now 
and  then.  But  I  won't  let  you  •  so  just  stop  it,  will  you?" 

Something  new  in  Ascott's  tone — speaking  more  of  the 
resentful  fierceness  of  the  man  than  the  pettishness  of  the 
boy — frightened  his  little  aunt,  and  silenced  her.  By-and- 
by  she  took  comfort  from  the  reflection  that,  as  the  lad 
had  in  his  anger  betrayed,  he  had  beside  him  in  London  a 
monitor  whose  preaching  would  be  so  much  wiser  and 
more  effectual  than  her  own  that  she  determined  to  say  no 
more. 

The  rare  hearing  of  Mr.  Lyon's  name — for,  time  and  ab- 
sence having  produced  their  natural  effect,  except  when  his 
letters  came,  he  was  seldom  talked  about  now — set  Hilary 
thinking. 

"Do  you  go  to  see  him  often?"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Who  —  Mr.  Lyon  ?"  And  Ascott,  delighted  to  escape 
into  a  fresh  subject,  became  quite  cheerful  and  communi- 
cative. "  Oh,  bless  you!  he  wouldn't  care  for  my  going 
to  him.  He  lives  in  a  two-pair  back,  only  one  room, '  which 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  63 

serves  him  for  kitchen,  and  parlor,  and  all ;'  dines  at  a  cook- 
shop  for  ninepence  a  day,  and  makes  his  own  porridge 
night  and  morning.  He  told  me  so  once,  for  he  isn't  a  bit 
ashamed  of  it.  But  he  must  be  precious  hard  up  some- 
times. However,  as  he  contrives  to  keep  a  decent  coat  on 
his  back,  and  pay  his  classes  at  the  University,  and  carry 
off  the  very  best  honors  going  there,  nobody  asks  any 
questions.  That's  the  good  of  London,  Aunt  Hilary,"  said 
the  young  fellow,  drawing  himself  up  with  great  wisdom. 
"  Only  look  like  a  gentleman,  behave  yourself  as  such,  and 
nobody  asks  any  questions." 

"  Yes,"  vaguely  acquiesced  Aunt  Hilary.  And  then  her 
mind  wandered  yearningly  to  the  solitary  student  in  the 
two-pair  back.  He  might  labor  and  suffer;  he  might  be 
ill ;  he  might  die,  equally  solitary,  and  "  nobody  would  ask 
any  questions."  This  phase  of  London  life  let  a  new  light 
in  upon  her  mind.  The  letters  to  Johanna  had  been  chief- 
ly filled  with  whatever  he  thought  would  interest  them. 
With  his  characteristic  Scotch  reserve  he  had  said  very  lit- 
tle about  himself,  except  in  the  last,  wherein  he  mentioned 
that  he  had  "  done  pretty  well"  at  college  this  term,  and 
meant  to  "  go  in  for  more  work"  immediately. 

What  this  work  entailed  —  how  much  more  toil,  how 
much  more  poverty — Hilary  knew  not.  Perhaps  even  his 
successes,  which  Ascott  went  on  to  talk  of,  had  less  place 
in  her  thoughts  than  the  picture  of  the  face  she  knew, 
sharpened  with  illness,  wasted  with  hard  work  and  soli- 
tary care. 

"  And  I  can  not  help  him — I  can  not  help  him  !"  was  her 
bitter  cry;  until,  passing  from  the  dream-land  of  fancy,  the 
womanly  nature  asserted  itself.  She  thought  if  it  had 
been,  or  if  it  were  to  be,  her  blessed  lot  to  be  chosen  by 
Robert  Lyon,  how  she  would  take  care  of  him !  what  an 
utter  slave  she  would  be  to  him  !  How  no  penury  would 
frighten  her,  no  household  cares  oppress  or  humble  her,  if 
done  for  him  and  for  his  comfort.  To  her  brave  heart  no 
battle  of  life  seemed  too  long  or  too  sore,  if  only  it  were 
fought  for  him  and  at  his  side.  And  as  the  early-falling 


64  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

leaves  were  blown  in  gusts  across  her  path,  and  the  misty 
autumn  night  began  to  close  in,  nature  herself  seemed  to 
plead  in  unison  with  the  craving  of  her  heart,  which  sighed 
that  youth  and  summer  last  not  always;  and  that,  "be  it 
ever  so  humble,"  as  the  song  says,  there  is  no  place  so 
bright  and  beautiful  as  the  fireside  of  a  loveful  home. 

While  the  aunt  and  nephew  were  strolling  thus,  think- 
ing of  very  different  things,  their  own  fire,  newly  lit — As- 
cott  liked  a  fire — was  blazing  away  in  solitary  glory  for 
the  benefit  of  all  passers-by.  At  length  one — a  gentleman 
— stopped  at  the  gate,  and  looked  in,  then  took  a  turn  to 
the  end  of  the  terrace,  and  stood  gazing  in  once  more. 
The  solitude  of  the  room  apparently  troubled  him ;  twice 
his  hand  was  on  the  latch  before  he  opened  it  and  knocked 
at  the  front  door. 

Elizabeth  appeared,  which  seemed  to  surprise  him. 

"  Is  Miss  Leaf  at  home  ?" 


"  Is  she  well  ?  Are  all  the  family  well  ?"  and  he  stepped 
right  into  the  passage,  with  the  freedom  of  a  familiar  foot. 

("  I  should  ha'  slammed  the  door  in  his  face,"  was  Eliza- 
beth's comment  afterward,  "  only,  you  see,  Miss  Hilary, 
he  looked  a  real  gentleman.") 

The  stranger  and  she  mutually  examined  one  another. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  of  you,"  said  he,  smiling.  "  You 
are  Miss  Leaf's  servant — Elizabeth  Hand." 

"Yes,  sir,"  still  grimly,  and  with  a  determined  grasp  of 
the  door-handle. 

"  If  your  mistresses  are  likely  to  be  home  soon,  will  you 
allow  me  to  wait  for  them  ?  I  am  an  old  friend  of  theirs. 
My  name  is  Lyon." 

Now  Elizabeth  was  far  too  much  one  of  the  family  not 
to  have  heard  of  such  a  person.  And  his  knowing  her  was 
a  tolerable  proof  of  his  identity ;  besides,  unconsciously, 
the  girl  was  influenced  by  that  look  and  mien  of  true  gen- 
tlemanhood,  as  courteous  to  the  poor  maid-of-all-work  as 
he  would  have  been  to  any  duchess  born ;  and  by  that 
bright,  sudden  smile,  which  came  like  sunshine  over  his 


MISTJRESS    AND    MAID.  65 

face,  and,  like  sunshine,  warmed  and  opened  the  heart  of 
every  one  that  met  it. 

It  opened  that  of  Elizabeth.  She  relaxed  her  Cerberus 
keeping  of  the  door,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  inform  him 
that  Miss  Leaf  and  Miss  Selina  were  out  to  tea,  but  Miss 
Hilary  and  Mr.  Ascott  would  be  at  home  shortly.  Ho  was 
welcome  to  wait  in  the  parlor  if  he  liked. 

Afterward,  seized  with  mingled  curiosity  and  misgiving, 
she  made  various  errands  to  go  in  and  look  at  him ;  but 
she  had  not  courage  to  address  him,  and  he  never  spoke  to 
her.  He  sat  by  the  window,  gazing  out  into  the  gloam- 
ing. Except  just  turning  his  head  at  her  entrance,  she  did 
not  think  he  had  once  stirred  the  whole  time. 

Elizabeth  went  back  to  her  kitchen,  and  stood  listening 
for  her  young  mistress's  familiar  knock.  Mr.  Lyon  seemed 
to  have  listened  too,  for  before  she  could  reach  it  the  door 
was  already  opened. 

There  was  a  warm  greeting — to  her  great  relief;  for  she 
knew  she  had  broken  the  domestic  laws  in  admitting  a 
stranger  unawares — and  then  Elizabeth  heard  them  all 
three  go  into  the  parlor,  where  they  remained  talking, 
without  ringing  for  either  tea  or  candles,  a  full  quarter  of 
an  hour. 

Miss  Hilary  at  last  came  out,  but,  much  to  Elizabeth's 
surprise,  went  straight  up  into  her  bedroom,  without  en- 
tering the  kitchen  at  all. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  she  descended;  and  then, 
after  giving  her  orders  for  tea,  and  seeing  that  all  was  ar- 
ranged with  special  neatness,  she  stood  absently  by  the 
kitchen  fire.  Elizabeth  noticed  how  wonderfully  bright 
her  eyes  were,  and  what  a  soft,  happy  smile  she  had.  She 
noticed  it,  because  she  had  never  seen  Miss  Hilary  look  ex- 
actly like  that  before ;  and  she  never  did  again. 

"Don't  you  be  troubling  yourself  with  waiting  about 
here,"  she  said ;  and  her  mistress  seemed  to  start  at  being 
spoken  to.  "  I'll  get  the  tea  all  right,  Miss  Hilary.  Please 
go  back  into  the  parlor." 

Hilary  went  in. 


66  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ELIZABETH  got  tea  ready  with  unwonted  diligence  and 
considerable  excitement.  Any  visitor  was  a  rare  occur- 
rence in  this  very  quiet  family ;  but  a  gentleman  visitor — • 
a  young  gentleman  too — was  a  remarkable  fact,  arousing 
both  interest  and  curiosity.  For  in  the  latter  quality  this 
girl  of  seventeen  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  be  defi- 
cient; and  as  to  the  former,  she  had  so  completely  identi- 
fied herself  with  the  family  she  served,  that  .all  their  con- 
cerns were  her  concerns  also.  Her  acute  comments  on 
their  few  guests  and  on  their  little  scholars  sometimes 
amused  Hilary  as  much  as  her  criticisms  on  the  books  she 
read ;  but,  as  neither  were  ever  put  forward  intrusively  or 
impertinently,  she  let  them  pass,  and  only  laughed  over 
them  with  Johanna  in  private. 

In  speaking  of  these  said  books,  and  the  questions  they 
led  to,  it  was  not  likely  but  that  mistress  and  maid — one 
aged  twenty-two,  and  the  other  seventeen — should  occa- 
sionally light  upon  a  subject  rather  interesting  to  women 
of  their  ages,  though  not  commonly  discussed  between 
mistresses  and  maids.  Nevertheless,  when  it  did  come  in 
the  way,  Miss  Hilary  never  shirked  it,  but  talked  it  out, 
frankly  and  freely,  as  she  would  to  any  other  person. 

"  The  girl  has  feelings  and  notions  on  the  matter,  like  all 
other  girls,  I  suppose,"  reasoned  she  to  herself:  "  so  it  is 
important  that  her  notions  should  be  kept  clear,  and  her 
feelings  right.  It  may  do  her  some  good,  and  save  her 
from  much  harm." 

And  so  it  befell  that  Elizabeth  Hand,  whose  blunt  ways, 
unlovely  person,  and  temperament  so  oddly  nervous  and 
reserved  kept  her  from  attracting  any  "sweetheart"  of 
her  own  class,  had  unconsciously  imbibed  her  mistress's 
theory  of  love.  Love,  pure  and  simple,  the  very  deepest 
and  highest,  sweetest  and  most  solemn  thing  in  life :  to  be 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  07 

believed  in  devoutly  until  it  came,  and  when  it  did  come, 
to  be  held  to  firmly,  faithfully,  with  a  single-minded,  set- 
tled constancy,  till  death — a  creed  quite  impossible,  many 
will  say,  in  this  ordinary  world,  and  most  dangerous  to  be 
put  into  the  head  of  a  poor  servant.  Yet  a  woman  is  but 
a  woman,  be  she  maid  -  servant  or  queen ;  and  if,  from 
queens  to  maid-servants,  girls  were  taught  thus  to  think 
of  love,  there  might  be  a  few  more  "  broken"  hearts  per- 
haps, but  there  would  certainly  be  fewer  wicked  hearts ; 
far  fewer  corrupted  lives  of  men  and  degraded  lives  of 
women ;  far  fewer  unholy  marriages,  and  desolated,  drea- 
ry, homeless  homes. 

Elizabeth,  having  cleared  away  her  tea-things,  stood  list- 
ening to  the  voices  in  the  parlor,  and  pondering. 

She  had  sometimes  wondered  in  her  own  mind  that  no 
knight  ever  came  to  carry  off  her  charming  princess — her 
admired  and  beloved  Miss  Hilary.  Miss  Hilary,  on  her 
part,  seemed  totally  indifferent  to  the  youth  at  Stowbury, 
who  indeed  were,  Elizabeth  allowed,  quite  unworthy  her 
regard.  The  only  suitable  lover  for  her  young  mistress 
must  be  somebody  exceedingly  grand  and  noble — a  com- 
pound of  the  best  heroes  of  Shakspeare,  Scott,  Fenimore 
Cooper,  Maria  Edgeworth,  and  Harriet  Martineau.  When 
this  strange  gentleman  appeared — in  ordinary  coat  and 
hat,  or  rather  Glengary  bonnet,  neither  particularly  hand- 
some nor  particularly  tall,  yet  whose  coming  had  evident- 
ly given  Miss  Hilary  so  much  pleasure,  and  who,  once  or 
twice  while  waiting  at  tea,  Elizabeth  fancied  she  had  seen 
looking  at  Miss  Hilary  as  nobody  ever  looked  before — 
when  Mr.  Robert  Lyon  appeared  on  the  horizon,  the  faith- 
ful "  bower-maiden"  was  a  good  deal  disappointed. 

She  had  expected  something  better;  at  all  events,  some- 
thing different.  Her  first  brilliant  castle  in  the  air  fell, 
poor  lass !  but  she  quickly  built  it  up  again,  and,  with  the 
vivid  imagination  of  her  age,  she  mapped  out  the  whole 
future,  ending  by  a  vision  of  Miss  Hilary,  all  in  white, 
sweeping  down  the  Terrace  in  a  carriage  and  pair — to  for- 
tune and  happiness ;  leaving  herself,  though  with  a  sore 


68  MISTBESS   AND    MAID. 

want  at  her  heart,  and  a  great  longing  to  follow,  to  devote 
the  remainder  of  her  natural  life  to  Miss  Johanna. 

"Her  couldna  do  without  somebody  to  see  to  her — and 
Miss  Selina  do  worrit  her  so,"  muttered  Elizabeth,  in  the 
excitement  of  this  Alnaschar  vision,  relapsing  into  her  old 
provincialisms.  "  So,  even  if  Miss  Hilary  axes  me  to  come, 
I'll  stop,  I  reckon.  Ay,  I'll  stop  wP  Miss  Leaf." 

This  valorous  determination  taken,  the  poor  maid-serv- 
ant's dream  was  broken  by  the  opening  of  the  parlor  door, 
and  an  outcry  of  Ascott's  for  his  coat  and  gloves,  he  hav- 
ing to  fetch  his  aunts  home  at  nine  o'clock,  Mr.  Lyon  ac- 
companying him.  And  as  they  all  stood  together  at  the 
front  door,  Elizabeth  overheard  Mr.  Lyon  say  something 
about  what  a  beautiful  night  it  was. 

"  It  would  do  you  no  harm,  Miss  Hilary  ;  will  you  walk 
with  us  ?" 

"  If  you  like." 

Hilary  went  up  stairs  for  her  bonnet  and  shawl;  but 
when,  a  minute  or  two  after,  Elizabeth  followed  her  with 
a  candle,  she  found  her  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
all  in  the  dark,  her  face  white,  and  her  hands  trembling. 

"  Thank  you — thank  you  !"  she  said,  mechanically,  as 
Elizabeth  folded  and  fastened  her  shawl  for  her,  and  de- 
scended immediately.  Elizabeth  watched  her  take,  not 
Ascott's  arm,  but  Mr.  Lyon's,  and  walk  down  the  terrace 
in  the  starlight. 

"  Some'at's  wrong.  I'd  like  to  know  \vho's  been  a-vexin' 
of  her,"  thought  fiercely  the  young  servant. 

No,  nobody  had  been  "a-vexin"'  her  mistress.  There 
was  nobody  to  blame ;  only  there  had  happened  to  Hilary 
one  of  those  things  which  strike  like  a  sword  through  a 
young  and  happy  heart,  taking  all  the  life  and  youth  out 
of  it. 

Robert  Lyon  had,  half  an  hour  ago,  told  her — and  she 
had  had  to  hear  it  as  a  piece  of  simple  news,  to  which  she 
had  only  to  say  "  Indeed  !" — that  to-day  and  to-morrow 
were  his  two  last  days  at  Stowbury — almost  his  last  in  En- 
gland. Within  a  week  he  was  to  sail  for  India. 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  69 

There  had  befallen  him  what  most  people  would  have 
considered  a  piece  of  rare  good  fortune.  At  the  London 
University,  a  fellow-student,  whom  he  had  been  gratuitous- 
ly "  coaching"  in  Hindostanee,  fell  ill,  and  was  "  thrown 
upon  his  hands,"  as  he  briefly  defined  services  which  must 
have  been  great,  since  they  had  resulted  in  this  end.  The 
young  man's  father,  a  Liverpool  and  Bombay  merchant, 
made  him  an  offer  to  go  out  there  to  their  house,  at  a  ris- 
ing salary  of  300  rupees  a  month  for  three  years;  after 
the  third  year  to  become  a  junior  partner,  remaining  at 
Bombay  in  that  capacity  for  two  years  more. 

This  he  told  to  Hilary  and  Ascott  in  almost  as  few  words 
as  I  have  here  put  it,  for  brevity  seemed  a  refuge  to  him  -. 
it  was  also  to  one  of  them.  But  Ascott  asked  so  many 
questions  that  his  aunt  needed  to  ask  none.  She  only  list- 
ened, and  tried  to  take  all  in,  and  understand  it — that  is, 
in  a  consecutive,  intelligent,  business  shape,  without  feeling 
it.  She  dared  not  let  herself  feel  it,  not  for  a  second,  till 
they  were  out,  arm-in-arm,  under  the  quiet  winter  stars. 
Then  she  heard  his  voice  asking  her, 

"  So  you  think  I  was  right  ?" 

"  Right  ?"  she  echoed,  mechanically. 

"  I  mean,  in  accepting  that  sudden  chance,  and  changing 
my  whole  plan  of  life.  I  did  not  do  it — believe  me — with- 
out a  motive." 

What  motive  ?  she  would  once  unhesitatingly  have  ask- 
ed ;  now  she  could  not. 

Robert  Lyon  continued  speaking,  distinctly  and  yet  in 
an  undertone,  that,  though  Ascott  was  walking  a  few  yards 
off,  Hilary  felt  was  meant  for  her  alone  $o  hear. 

"The  change  is,  you  perceive,  from  the  life  of  a  student 
to  that  of  a  man  of  business.  I  do  not  deny  that  I  prefer- 
red the  first.  Once  upon  a  time,  to  be  a  fellow  in  a  col- 
lege, or  a  professor,  or  the  like,  was  my  utmost  aim ;  and  I 
would  have  half  killed  myself  to  attain  it.  Now,  I  think 
differently." 

He  paused,  but  did  not  seem  to  require  an  answer,  and 
it  did  not  come. 


70  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

"  I  want  not  to  be  rich,  but  to  get  a  decent  competence, 
and  to  get  it  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  want  not  to  ruin  my 
health  with  incessant  study.  I  have  already  injured  it  a 
good  deal." 

"  Have  you  been  ill  ?     You  never  said  so." 

"  Oh  no,  it  was  hardly  worth  while.  And  I  knew  an 
active  life  would  soon  set  me  right  again.  No  fear  !  there's 
life  in  the  old  dog  yet.  He  does  not  wish  to  die.  But," 
Mr.  Lyon  pursued, "  I  have  had  a  '  sair  fecht'  the  last  year 
or  two.  I  would  not  go  through  it  again,  nor  see  any  one 
dear  to  me  go  through  it.  It  is  over,  but  it  has  left  its 
scars.  Strange  !  I  have  been  poor  all  my  life,  yet  I  never 
till  now  felt  an  actual  terror  of  poverty." 

Hilary  shrank  within  herself,  less  even  at  the  words  than 
at  something  in  their  tone — something  hard,  nay,  fierce ; 
something  at  once  despairing  and  aggressive. 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  said ;  "  such  a  terror  is  not  like  you. 
I  feel  none ;  I  can  not  even  understand  it." 

uNo;  I  knew  you  could  not,"  he  muttered,  and  was  si- 
lent. 

So  was  Hilary.  A  vague  trouble  came  over  her.  Could 
it  be  that  he,  Robert  Lyon,  had  been  seized  with  the  auri 
sacra  fames,  which  he  had  so  often  inveighed  against  and 
despised  ? — that  his  long  battle  with  poverty  had  caused 
in  him  such  an  overweening  desire  for  riches  that,  to  ob- 
tain them,  he  would  sacrifice  every  thing  else,  exile  him- 
self to  a  far  country  for  years,  selling  his  very  life  and  soul 
for  gold  ? 

Such  a  thought  of  him  was  so  terrible — that  is,  would 
have  been  were  it  tenable — that  Hilary  for  an  instant  felt 
herself  shiver  all  over.  The  next  she  spoke  out — injustice 
to  him  she  forced  herself  to  speak  out — all  her  honest  soul. 

"  I  do  believe  that  this  going  abroad  to  make  a  fortune, 
which  young  men  so  delight  in,  is  often  a  most  fatal  mis- 
take. They  give  up  far  more  than  they  gain — country, 
home,  health.  I  think  a  man  has  no  right  to  sell  his  life 
any  more  than  his  soul  for  so  many  thousands  a  year." 

Robert  Lyon  smiled.     "  No ;  and  I  am  not  selling  mine. 


MISTRESS   AND    MAID.  71 

With  my  temperate  habits  I  have  as  good  a  chance  of 
health  at  Bombay  as  in  London — perhaps  better.  And 
the  years  I  must  be  absent  I  would  have  been  absent  al- 
most as  much  from  you — I  mean  they  would  have  been 
spent  in  work  as  engrossing  and  as  hard.  They  will  soon 
pass,  and  then  I  shall  come  home  rich— rich.  Do  you  think 
I  am  growing  mercenary  ?" 

"No." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  do  think  about  me." 

"  I— can  not  quite  understand." 

"  And  I  can  not  make  you  understand.  Perhaps  I  will, 
some  day,  when  I  come  back  again.  Till  then,  you  must 
trust  me,  Hilary." 

It  happens  occasionally,  in  moments  of  all  but  intolera- 
ble pain,  that  some  small  thing— a  word,  a  look,  a  touch  of 
a  hand,  lets  in  such  a  gleam  of  peace  that  nothing  ever  ex- 
tinguishes the  light  of  it :  it  burns  on  for  years  and  years, 
sometimes  clear,  sometimes  obscured,  but  as  ineffaceable 
from  life  and  memory  as  a  star  from  its  place  in  the  heav- 
ens. Such,  both  then  and  through  the  lonely  years  to 
come,  were  those  five  words,  "  You  must  trust  me,  Hilary." 

She  did ;  and  in  the'  perfectness  of  that  trust  her  own 
separate  identity,  with  all  its  consciousness  of  pain,  seemed 
annihilated :  she  did  not  think  of  herself  at  all,  only  of 
him,  and  with  him,  and  for  him.  So,  for  the  time  being, 
she  lost  all  sense  of  personal  suffering,  and  their  walk  that 
night  was  as  cheerful  and  happy  as  if  they  were  to  walk 
together  for  weeks,  and  months,  and  years  in  undivided 
confidence  and  content,  instead  of  its  being  the  last — the 
very  last. 

Some  one  has  said  that  all  lovers  have,  soon  or  late,  to" 
learn  to  be  only  friends  :  happiest  and  safest  are  those  in 
whom  the  friendship  is  the  foundation — always  firm  and 
ready  to  fall  back  upon  long  after  the  fascination  of  pas- 
sion dies.  It  may  take  a  little  from  the  romance  of  these 
two  if  I  own  that  Robert  Lyon  talked  to  Hilary  not  a  word 
about  love,  and  a  good  deal  about  pure  business,  telling 
her  all  his  affairs  and  arrangements,  and  giving  her  as  clear 


72  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

an  idea  of  his  future  life  as  it  was  possible  to  do  within  the 
limits  of  one  brief  half  hour. 

Then  casting  a  glance  round,  and  seeing  that  Ascott  was 
quite  out  of  earshot,  he  said,  with  that  tender  fall  of  the 
voice  that  felt,  as  some  poet  hath  it, 

"  Like  a  still  embrace," 
"Now  tell  me  as  much  as  you  can  about  yourself." 

At  first  there  seemed  nothing  to  tell,  but  gradually  he 
drew  from  Hilary  a  good  deal.  Johanna's  feeble  health, 
which  caused  her  continuing  to  teach  to  be  very  unadvisa- 
ble ;  and  the  gradual  diminishing  of  the  school — from  what 
cause  they  could  not  account — which  made  it  very  doubt- 
ful whether  some  change  would  not  soon  or  late  be  neces- 
sary. 

What  this  change  should  be  she  and  Mr.  Lyon  discussed 
a  little — as  far  as,  in  the  utterly  indefinite  position  of  af- 
fairs, was  possible.  Also,  from  some  other  questions  of  his, 
she  spoke  to  him  about  another  dread  which  had  lurked  in 
her  mind,  and  yet  to  which  she  could  give  no  tangible 
shape — about  Ascott.  He  could  not  remove  it,  he  did  not 
attempt ;  but  he  soothed  it  a  little,  advising  her  as  to  the 
best  way  of  managing  the  willful  lad.  His  strong,  clear 
sense,  just  judgment,  and,  above  all,  a  certain  unspoken 
sense  of  union,  as  if  all  that  concerned  her  and  hers  he  took 
naturally  upon  himself  as  his  own,  gave  Hilary  such  com- 
fort that,  even  on  this  night,  with  a  full  consciousness  of 
all  that  was  to  follow,  she  was  happy — nay,  she  had  not 
been  so  happy  for  years.  Perhaps  (let  the  truth  be.  told, 
the  glorious  truth  of  true  love,  that  its  recognition,  spoken 
or  silent,  constitutes  the  only  perfect  joy  of  life — that  of 
\\vo  made  one) — perhaps  she  had  never  been  so  really  hap- 
py since  she  was  born. 

The  last  thing  he  did  was  to  make  her  give  him  an  as- 
surance that  in  any  and  all  difficulty  she  would  apply  to 
him. 

"  To  me,  and  to  no  one  else,  remember.  No  one  but  my- 
self must  help  you.  And  I  will,  so  long  as  I  am  alive.  Do 
you  believe  this  ?" 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  73 

She  looked  up  at  him  by  the  lamp-light,  and  said, "  I  do." 

"  And  you  promise  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Then  they  loosed  arms,  and  Hilary  knew  that  they  should 
never  walk  together  again  till — when,  and  how  ? 

Returning,  of  course  he  walked  with  Miss  Leaf;  and 
throughout  the  next  day,  a  terribly  wet  Sunday,  spent  by 
them  entirely  in  the  little  parlor,  they  had  riot  a  minute  of 
special  or  private  talk  together.  He  did  not  seem  to  wish 
it — indeed,  almost  avoided  it. 

Thus  slipped  away  the  strange,  still  day — a  Sunday  nev- 
er to  be  forgotten.  At  night,  after  prayers  were  over,  Mr. 
Lyon  rose  suddenly,  saying  he  must  leave  them  now ;  he 
was  obliged  to  start  from  Stowbury  at  daybreak. 

"  Shall  we  not  see  you  again  ?"  asked  Johanna. 

"  No.  This  will  be  my  last  Sunday  in  England.  Good- 
by!" 

He  turned  excessively  pale,  shook  hands  silently  with 
them  all — Hilary  last — and  almost  before  they  recognized 
the  fact  he  was  gone. 

With  him  departed,  not  all  Hilary's  peace,  or  faith,  or 
courage  of  heart — for  to  all  who  love  truly,  while  the  best 
beloved  lives,  and  lives  worthily,  no  parting  is  hopeless 
and  no  grief  overwhelming — but  all  the  brightness  of  her 
youth,  all  the  sense  of  joy  that  young  people  have  in  lov- 
ing and  in  being  loved  again,  in  fond  meetings  and  fonder 
partings,  in  endless  walks  and  talks,  in  sweet  kisses  and 
clinging  arms.  Such  happiness  was  not  for  her ;  when  she 
saw  it  the  lot  of  others,  she  said  to  herself,  sometimes  with 
a  natural  sharp  sting  of  pain,  but  oftener  with  a  solemn 
acquiescence,  "It  is  the  will  of  God;  it  is  the  will  of 
God." 

Johanna,  too,  who  would  have  given  her  life  almost  to 
bring  some  color  back  to  the  white  face  of  her  darling,  of 
whom  she  asked  no  questions,  and  who  never  complained 
nor  confessed  any  thing,  many  and  many  a  night,  when 
Hilary  either  lay  awake  by  her  side,  or  tossed  and  moaned 
in  her  sleep  till  the  elder  sister  took  her  in  her  arms  like  a 

D 


74  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

baby — Johanna,  too,  said  to  herself,  "  This  is  the  will  of 
God." 

I  have  told  thus  much  in  detail  the  brief,  sad  story  of  Hi- 
lary's youth,  to  show  how  impossible  it  was  that  Elizabeth 
Hand  could  live  in  the  house  with  these  two  women  with- 
out being  strongly  influenced  by  them,  as  every  person — 
especially  every  woman — influences  for  good  or  for  evil  ev- 
ery other  person  connected  with  her  or  dependent  upon 
her. 

Elizabeth  was  a  girl  of  close  observation  and  keen  per- 
ception. Besides,  to  most  people,  whether  or  not  their 
sympathy  be  universal,  so  far  as  the  individual  is  concern- 
ed, any  deep  affection  generally  lends  eyes,  tact,  and  deli- 
cacy. 

Thus  when,  on  the  Monday  morning  at  breakfast,  Miss 
Selina  observed  "  what  a  fine  day  Mr.  Lyon  was  having  for 
his  journey ;  what  a  lucky  fellow  he  was ;  how  he  would 
be  sure  to  make  a  fortune,  and  if  so,  she  wondered  whether 
they  should  ever  see  or  hear  any  thing  of  him  again" — 
Elizabeth,  from  the  glimpse  she  caught  of  Miss  Hilary's 
face,  and  from  the  quiet  way  in  which  Miss  Leaf  merely 
answered,  "  Time  will  show,"  and  began  talking  to  Selina 
about  some  other  subject — Elizabeth  resolved  never  in  any 
way  to  make  the  smallest  allusion  to  Mr.  Robert  Lyon. 
Something  had  happened,  she  did  not  know  what,  and  it 
was  not  her  business  to  find  out;  the  family  affairs,  so  far 
as  she  was  trusted  with  them,  were  warmly  her  own,  but 
into  the  family  secrets  she  had  no  right  to  pry. 

Yet,  long  after  Miss  Selina  had  ceased  to  "  wonder"  about 
him,  or  even  to  name  him — his  presence  or  absence  did  not 
touch  her  personally,  and  she  was  always  the  centre  of  her 
own  small  world  of  interest — the  little  maid-servant  kept 
in  her  mind,  and  pondered  over  at  odd  times  every  possi- 
ble solution  of  the  mystery  of  this  gentleman's  sudden  vis- 
it; of  the  long,  wet  Sunday  when  he  sat  all  day  talking 
with  her  mistresses  in  the  parlor;  of  the  evening  prayer, 
when  Miss  Leaf  had  twice  to  stop,  her  voice  faltered  so ; 
and  of  the  night  when,  long  after  all  the  others  had  gone 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  75 

to  bed,  Elizabeth,  coming  suddenly  into  the  parlor,  had 
found  Miss  Hilary  sitting  alone  over  the  embers  of  the  fire, 
with  the  saddest,  saddest  look  !  so  that  the  girl  had  softly 
shut  the  door  again  without  ever  speaking  to  "  missis." 

Elizabeth  did  more,  which,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  a 
servant  who  is  supposed  to  know  nothing  of  any  thing 
that  has  happened  can  often  do  better  than  a  member  of 
the  family  who  knows  every  thing,  and  this  knowledge  is 
sometimes  the  most  irritating  consciousness  a  sufferer  has. 
She  followed  her  young  mistress  with  a  steady  watchful- 
ness, so  quiet  and  silent  that  Hilary  never  found  it  out — 
saved  her  every  little  household  care,  gave  her  every  little 
household  treat.  Not  much  to  do,  and  less  to  be  chroni- 
cled ;  but  the  way  in  which  she  did  it  was  all. 

During  the  long,  dull  winter  days,  to  come  in  and  find 
the  parlor  fire  always  bright,  the  hearth  clean  swept,  and 
the  room  tidy  ;  never  to  enter  the  kitchen  without  the  serv- 
ant's face  clearing  up  into  a  smile ;  when  her  restless  irri- 
tability made  her  forget  things  and  grow  quite  vexed  in 
the  search  after  them,  to  see  that  somehow  her  shoes  were 
never  misplaced,  and  her  gloves  always  came  to  hand  in 
some  mysterious  manner — these  trifles,  in  her  first  heavy 
days  of  darkness,  soothed  Hilary  more  than  words  could 
tell. 

And  the  sight  of  Miss  Hilary  going  about  the  house  and 
school-room  as  usual,  with  that  poor  white  face  of  hers ; 
nay,  gradually  bringing  to  the  fariiily  fireside,  as  usual,  her 
harmless  little  joke,  and  her  merry  laugh  at  it  and  herself 
— who  shall  say  what  lessons  may  not  have  been  taught 
by  this  to  the  humble  servant,  dropping  deep-sown  into 
her  heart,  to  germinate  and  fructify,  as  her  future  life's 
needs  required  ? 

It  might  have  been  so — God  knows !  He  alone  can  know, 
who,  through  what  (to  us)  seem  the  infinite  littlenesses  of 
our  mortal  existence,  is  educating  us  into  the  infinite  great- 
ness of  his  and  our  immortality. 


76  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AUTUMN  soon  lapsed  into  winter ;  Christmas  came  and 
went,  bringing,  not  Ascott,  as  they  hoped  and  he  had  prom- 
ised, but  a  very  serious  evil  in  the  shape  of  sundry  bills  of . 
his,  which,  he  confessed  in  a  most  piteous  letter  to  his  Aunt 
Hilary,  were  absolutely  unpayable  out  of  his  godfather's 
allowance.  They  were  not  large— or  would  not  have  seem- 
ed so  to  rich  people — and  they  were  for  no  more  blamable 
luxuries  than  horse-hire,  and  a  dinner  or  two  to  friends  out 
in  the  country;  but  they  looked  serious  to  a  household 
which  rarely  was  more  than  five  pounds  beforehand  with 
the  world. 

He  had  begged  Aunt  Hilary  to  keep  his  secret,  but  that 
was  evidently  impossible;  so,  on  the  day  the  school -ac- 
counts were  being  written  out  and  sent  in,  and  their  amount 
anxiously  reckoned,  she  laid  before  her  sisters  the  lad's  let- 
ter, full  of  penitence  and  promises : 

"I  will  be  careful — I  will  indeed — if  you  will  help  me 
this  once,  dear  Aunt  Hilary ;  and  don't  think  too  ill  of  me. 
I  have  done  nothing  wicked.  And  you  don't  know  London 
— you  don't  know,  with  a  lot  of  young  fellows  about  one, 
how  very  hard  it  is  to  say  no." 

At  that  unluckly  postscript  the  Misses  Leaf  sorrowfully 
exchanged  looks.  Little  the  lad  thought  about  it — but 
these  few  words  were  the  very  sharpest  pang  Ascott  had 
ever  given  to  his  aunts. 

"  What's  bred  in  the  bone  will  come  out  in  the  flesh." 
"  Like  father,  like  son."  "  The  sins  of  the  parents  shall  be 
visited  on  the  children."  So  runs  many  a  proverb ;  so  con- 
firms the  unerring  decree  of  a  just  God,  who  would  not  be 
a  just  Godtlid  he  allow  himself  to  break  his  own  righteous 
laws  for  the  government  of  the  universe  ;  did  he  falsify  the 
requirements  of  his  own  holy  and  pure  being  by  permitting 
any  other  wages  for  sin  than  death.  And  though,  through 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  7V 

his  mercy,  sin  forsaken  escapes  sin's  penalty,  and  every  hu- 
man being  has  it  in  his  power  to  modify,  if  not  to  conquer, 
any  hereditary  moral  as  well  as  physical  disease,  thereby 
avoiding  the  doom  and  alleviating  the  curse,  still  the  orig- 
inal law  remains  in  force,  and  ought  to  remain,  an  example 
and  a  \varning.  As  true  as  that  every  individual  sin  which 
a  man  commits  breeds  multitudes  more,  is  it  that  every  in- 
dividual sinner  may  transmit  his  own  peculiar  type  of  weak- 
ness or  wickedness  to  a  whole  race,  disappearing  in  one  gen- 
eration, reappearing  in  another,  exactly  the  same  as  phys- 
ical peculiarities  do,  requiring  the  utmost  caution  of  educa- 
tion to  counteract  the  terrible  tendencies  of  nature — the 
"  something  in  the  blood"  which  is  so  difficult  to  eradicate ; 
which  may  even  make  the  third  and  fourth  generations  ex- 
ecrate the  memory  of  him  or  her  who  was  its  origin. 

The  long  life-curse  of  Henry  Leaf  the  elder,  and  Henry 
Leaf  the  younger,  had  been — the  women  of  the  family  well 
knew — that  they  were  men  "  who  couldn't  say  No,"  So 
keenly  were  the  three  sisters  alive  to  this  fault — it  could 
hardly  be  called  a  crime,  and  yet,  in  its  consequences,  it 
was  so  —  so  sickening  the  terror  of  it  which  their  own 
wretched  experience  had  implanted  in  their  minds,  that 
during  Ascott's  childhood  and  youth  his  very  fractiousness 
and  roughness,  his  little  selfishness,  and  his  persistence  in 
his  own  will  against  theirs,  had  been  hailed  by  his  aunts  as 
a  good  omen  that  he  would  grow  up  "  so  unlike  his  poor 
father." 

If  the  two  unhappy  Henry  Leafs — father  and  son — could 
have  come  out  of  their  graves  that  night  and  beheld  these 
three  women,  daughters  and  sisters,  sitting  with  Ascott's 
letter  on  the  table,  planning  how  the  household's  small 
expenses  could  be  contracted,  its  still  smaller  luxuries  re- 
linquished, in  order  that  the  boy  might  honorably  pay  for 
pleasures  he  might  so  easily  have  done  without !  If  they 
could  have  seen  the  weight  of  apprehension  which  then 
sank  like  a  stone  on  these  long-tried  hearts,  never  to  be  aft- 
erward quite  removed ;  lightened  sometimes,  but  always — 
however  Ascott  might  promise  and  amend — always  there.1 


78  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

On  such  a  discovery,  surely,  these  two  "poor  ghosts"  would 
have  fled  away  moaning,  wishing  they  had  died  childless, 
or  that  during  their  mortal  lives  any  amount  of  self-re- 
straint and  self-compulsion  had  purged  from  their  natures 
the  accursed  thing — the  sin  which  had  worked  itself  out 
in  sorrow  upon  every  one  belonging  to  them  years  after 
their  own  heads  were  laid  in  the  quiet  dust. 

"  We  must  do  it,"  was  the  conclusion  the  Misses  Leaf 
unanimously  came  to — even  Selina,  who,  with  all  her  faults, 
had  a  fair  share  of  good  feeling  and  of  that  close  clinging 
to  kindred  which  is  found  in  fallen  households,  or  house- 
holds whom  the  sacred  bond  of  common  poverty  has  drawn 
together  in  a  way  that  large,  well-to-do  home  circles  can 
never  quite  understand.  "  We  must  not  let  the  boy  re- 
main in  debt ;  it  would  be  such  a  disgrace  to  the  family." 

"  It  is  not  the  remaining  in  debt,  but  the  incurring  of  it, 
which  is  the  real  disgrace  to  Ascott  and  the  family." 

"  Hush,  Hilary  !"  said  Johanna,  pointing  to  the  opening 
door ;  but  it  was  too  late. 

Elizabeth,  corning  suddenly  in — or  else  the  ladies  had 
been  so  engrossed  with  their  conversation  that  they  had 
not  noticed  her — had  evidently  heard  every  word  of  the 
last  sentence.  Her  conscious  face  showed  it — more  espe- 
cially the  bright  scarlet  which  covered  both  her  cheeks 
when  Miss  Leaf  said  "  Hush  !"  She  stood,  apparently  ir- 
resolute as  to  whether  she  should  run  away  again;  and 
then  her  native  honesty  got  the  upper  hand,  and  she  ad- 
vanced into  the  room. 

"If  you  please,  missis,  I  didn't  mean  to  —  but  I've 
heard—" 

"  What  have  you  heard — that  is,  how  much  ?" 

u  Just  what  Miss  Hilary  said.  Don't  be  afeared.  I 
sha'n't  tell.  I  never  chatter  about  the  family.  Mother 
told  me  not." 

"  You  owe  a  great  deal,  Elizabeth,  to  your  good  mother. 
Now  go  away." 

"And  another  time,"  said  Miss  Selina,  "knock  at  the 
door." 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  79 

This  was  Elizabeth's  first  initiation  into  what  many  a 
servant  has  to  share  —  the  secret  burden  of  the  family. 
After  that  day,  though  they  did  not  actually  confide  in 
her,  her  mistresses  used  no  effort  to  conceal  that  they  had 
cares ;  that  the  domestic  economies  must,  this  winter,  be 
especially  studied;  there  must  be  no  extra  fires,  no  can- 
dles left  burning  to  waste ;  and,  once  a  week  or  so,  a  few 
butterless  breakfasts  or  meatless  dinners  must  be  partaken 
of  cheerfully  in  both  parlor  and  kitchen.  The  Misses  Leaf 
never  stinted  their  servant  in  any  thing  in  which  they  did 
not  stint  themselves. 

Strange  to  say,  in  spite  of  Miss  Selina's  prophecies,  the 
girl's  respectful  conduct  did  not  abate ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
seemed  to  increase.  The  nearer  she  was  lifted  to  her  mis- 
tresses' level,  the  more  her  mind  grew,  so  that  she  could 
better  understand  her  mistresses'  cares,  and  the  deeper  be- 
came her  consciousness  of  the  only  thing  which  gives  one 
human  being  any  real  authority  over  another — personal 
character. 

Therefore,  though  the  family  means  were  narrowed,  and 
the  family  luxuries  few,  Elizabeth  cheerfully  put  up  with 
all ;  she  even  felt  a  sort  of  pride  in  wasting  nothing  and 
in  making  the  best  of  every  thing,  as  the  others  did.  Per- 
haps, it  may  be  said,  she  was  an  exceptional  servant ;  and 
yet  I  would  not  do  her  class  the  wrong  to  believe  so — I 
would  rather  believe  that  there  are  many  such  among  it; 
many  good,  honest,  faithful  girls,  who  only  need  good  mis- 
tresses unto  whom  to  be  honest  and  faithful,  and  they 
would  be  no  less  so  than  Elizabeth  Hand. 

The  months  went  by — heavy  and  anxious  months ;  for 
the  school  gradually  dwindled  away,  and  Ascott's  letter — 
now  almost  the  only  connection  his  aunts  had  with  the 
outer  world,  for  poverty  necessarily  diminished  even  their 
small  Stowbury  society — became  more  and  more  unsatis- 
factory ;  and  the  want  of  information  in  them  was  not  sup- 
plied by  those  other  letters,  which  had  once  kept  Johanna's 
heart  easy  concerning  the  boy. 

Mr.Lyon  had  written  once  before  sailing,  nay,  after  sail* 


80  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

ing,  for  he  had  sent  it  home  by  the  pilot  from  the  English 
Channel ;  then  there  was,  of  course,  silence.  October,  No- 
vember, December,  January,  February,  March — how  often 
did  Hilary  count  the  months,  and  wonder  how  soon  a  let- 
ter could  come — whether  a  letter  ever  would  come  again. 
And  sometimes — the  sharp  present  stinging  her  with  its 
small  daily  pains,  the  future  looking  dark  before  her  and 
them  all — she  felt  so  forlorn,  so  forsaken,  that  but  for  a 
certain  tiny  well-spring  of  hope,  which  rarely  dries  up  till 
long  after  three-and-twenty,  she  could  have  sat  down  and 
sighed,  "My  good  days  are  done." 

Rich  people  break  their  hearts  much  sooner  than  poor 
people ;  that  is,  they  more  easily  get  into  that  morbid 
state  which  is  glorified  by  the  term  "a  broken  heart." 
Poor  people  can  not  afford  it.  Their  constant  labor  "  phys- 
ics pain."  Their  few  and  narrow  pleasures  seldom  pall. 
Holy  poverty !  black  as  its  dark  side  is,  it  has  its  bright 
side  too,  that  is,  when  it  is  honest,  fearless,  free  from  self- 
ishness, wastefulnesses,  and  bickerings;  above  all,  free  from 
the  terror  of  debt. 

"  We'll  starve — we'll  go  into  the  workhouse  rather  than 
we'll  go  into  debt !"  cried  Hilary  once,  in  a  passion  of  tears, 
when  she  was  in  sore  want  of  a  shawl,  and  Selina  urged 
her  to  get  it,  and  wait  till  she  could  pay  for  it.  "Yes; 
the  workhouse !  It  would  be  less  shame  to  be  honorably 
indebted  to  the  laws  of  the  land  than  to  be  meanly  indebt- 
ed, under  false  pretenses,  to  any  individual  in  it." 

And  when,  in  payment  for  some  accidental  lessons,  she 
got  next  month  enough  money  to  buy  a  shawl,  and  a  bon- 
net too — nay,  by  great  ingenuity,  another  bonnet  for  Jo- 
hanna— Hilary  could  have  danced  and  sang — sang,  in  the 
gladness  and  relief  of  her  heart,  the  glorious  euthanasia  of 
poverty. 

But  these  things  happened  only  occasionally ;  the  daily 
life  was  hard  still — ay,  very  hard,  even  though  at  last 
came  the  letter  from  "  foreign  parts  ;"  and  following  it,  at 
regular  intervals,  other  letters.  They  were  full  of  facts 
rather  than  feelings — simple,  straightforward  ;  worth  little 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  81 

as  literary  compositions;  school-master  and  learned  man 
as  he  was,  there  was  nothing  literary  or  poetical  about  Mr. 
Lyon ;  but  what  he  wrote  was  like  what  he  spoke,  the  ac- 
curate reflection  of  his  own  clear,  original  mind,  and  hon- 
est, tender  heart. 

His  letters  gave  none  the  less  comfort  because,  nominal- 
ly, they  were  addressed  to  Johanna.  This  might  have 
been  from  some  crotchet  of  over-reserve,  or  delicacy,  or 
honor — the  same  which  made  him  part  from  her  for  years 
with  no  other  word  than  "  You  must  trust  me,  Hilary ;" 
but,  whatever  it  was,  she  respected  it,  and  she  did  trust 
him.  And  whether  Johanna  answered  his  letters  or  not, 
month  by  month  they  unfailingly  came,  keeping  her  com- 
pletely informed  of  all  his  proceedings,  and  letting  out,  as 
epistles  written  from  over  the  seas  often  do,  much  more  of 
himself  and  his  character  than  he  was  probably  aware  that 
he  betrayed. 

And  Hilary,  whose  sole  experience  of  mankind  had  been 
the  scarcely  remembered  father,  the  too  well  remembered 
brother,  and  the  anxiously  watched  nephew,  thanked  God 
that  there  seemed  to  be  one  man  in  the  world  whom  a 
woman  could  lean  her  heart  upon,  and  not  feel  the  support 
break  like  a  reed  beneath  her — one  man  whom  she  could 
entirely  believe  in,  and  safely  and  sacredly  trust. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TIME  slipped  by.  Robert  Lyon  had  been  away  more 
than  three  years.  But  in  the  monotonous  life  of  the  three 
sisters  at  Stowbury  nothing  was  changed  —  except,-  per- 
haps, Elizabeth,  who  had  grown  quite  a  woman ;  might 
have  passed  almost  for  thirty,  so  solidly  old-fashioned  were 
her  figure  and  her  manners. 

Ascott  Leaf  had  finished  his  walking  the  hospitals  and 
his  examinations,  and  was  now  fitted  to  commence  prac- 
tice for  himself.  His  godfather  had  still  continued  his  al- 
lowance, though  once  or  twice,  when  he  came  down  to 


82  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Stowbuiy,  he  had  asked  his  aunts  to  help  him  in  some 
small  debts — the  last  time  in  one  a  little  more  serious; 
when,  after  some  sad  and  sore  consultation,  it  had  been  re- 
solved to  tell  him  he  must  contrive  to  live  within  his  own 
allowance.  For  they  were  poorer  than  they  used  to  be ; 
many  more  schools  had  arisen  in  the  town,  and  theirs  had 
dwindled  away.  It  was  becoming  a  source  of  serious  anx- 
iety whether  they  could  possibly  make  ends  meet;  and 
when,  the  next  Christmas,  Ascott  sent  them  a  five-pound 
note — an  actual  five-pound  note,  together  with  a  fond, 
grateful  letter  that  was  worth  it  all,  the  aunts  were  deep- 
ly thankful,  and  very  happy. 

But  still  the  school  declined.  One  night  they  were  spec- 
ulating upon  the  causes  of  this,  and  Hilary  was  declaring, 
in  a  half  jocular,  half  earnest  way,  that  it  must  be  because 
a  prophet  is  never  a  prophet  in  his  own  country. 

"The  Stowbuiy  people  will  never  believe  how  clever  I 
am.  Only  it  is  a  useless  sort  of  cleverness,  I  fear.  Greek, 
Latin,  and  mathematics  are  no  good  to  infants  under  sev- 
en, such  as  Stowbuiy  persists  in  sending  to  us." 

"  They  think  I  am  only  fit  to  teach  little  children — and 
perhaps  it  is  true,"  said  Miss  Leaf. 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  to  teach  at  all.  I  wish  I  was  a 
daily  governess — I  might  be,  and  earn  enough  to  keep  the 
whole  family;  only,  not  here." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Johanna,  thoughtfully,  "  if  we  shall 
have  to  make  a  change  !" 

"  A  change !"  It  almost  pained  the  elder  sister  to  see 
how  the  younger  brightened  up  at  the  word.  "  Where  to 
— London  ?  Oh,  I  have  so  longed  to  go  and  live  in  Lon- 
don !  But  I  thought  you  would  not  like  it,  Johanna." 

That  was  true.  Miss  Leaf,  whom  feeble  health  had 
made  prematurely  old,  would  willingly  have  ended  her 
days  in  the  familiar  town;  but  Hilary  was  young  and 
strong.  Johanna  called  to  mind  the  days  when  she  too 
had  felt  that  rest  was  only  another  name  for  dullness,  and 
when  the  most  difficult  thing  possible  to  her  was  what 
seemed  now  so  easy — to  sit  down  and  endure. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  83 

Besides,  unlike  herself,  Hilary  had  her  life  all  before  her. 
It  might  be  a  happy  life,  safe  in  a  good  man's  tender  keep- 
ing ;  those  unfailing  letters  from  India  seemed  to  prophesy 
that  it  would.  But  no  one  could  say.  Miss  Leaf's  own 
experience  had  not  led  her  to  place  much  faith  in  either 
men  or  happiness. 

Still,  whatever  Hilary's  future  might  be,  it  would  likely 
be  a  very  different  one  from  that  quiet,  colorless  life  of 
hers.  And  as  she  looked  at  her  young  sister,  with  the  twi- 
light glow  on  her  face — they  were  taking  an  evening  stroll 
up  and  down  the  terrace — Johanna  hoped  and  prayed  it 
might  be  so.  Her  own  lot  seemed  easy  enough  for  herself; 
but  for  Hilary — she.  would  like  to  see  Hilary  something 
better  than  a  poor  school-mistress  at  Stowbury. 

No  more  was  said  at  that  time,  but  Johanna  had  the 
deep,  still,  Mary-like  nature  which  "kept"  things,  and 
"  pondered  them  in  her  heart ;"  so  that  when  the  subject 
came  up  again  she  was  able  to  meet  it  with  that  sweet 
calmness  which  was  her  especial  characteristic — the  unruf- 
fled peace  of  a  soul  which  no  worldly  storms  could  disturb 
overmuch,  for  it  had  long  since  cast  anchor  in  the  world 
unseen. 

The  chance  which  revived  the  question  of  the  Great 
Metropolitan  Hegira,  as  Hilary  called  it,  was  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Ascott,  as  follows : 

"  Miss  LEAF  : 

"  MADAM, — I  shall  be  obliged  by  your  informing  me  if  it 
is  your  wish,  as  it  seems  to  be  your  nephew's,  that,  instead 
of  returning  to  Stowbury,  he  should  settle  in  London  as  a 
surgeon  and  general  practitioner? 

"His  education  complete,  I  consider  that  I  have  done 
my  duty  by  him ;  but  I  may  assist  him  occasionally  still, 
unless  he  turns  out — as  his  father  did  before  him — a  young 
man  who  prefers  being  helped  to  helping  himself,  in  which 
case  I  shall  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him. 

"I  remain,  madam,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  PETER  ASCOTT." 

The  sisters  read  this  letter,  passing  it  round  the  table. 


84  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

none  of  them  apparently  liking  to  be  the  first  to  comment 
upon  it.  At  length  Hilary  said,  "  I  think  that  reference  to 
poor  Henry  is  perfectly  brutal." 

"  And  yet  he  was  very  kind  to  Henry.  And  if  it  had 
not  been  for  his  common  sense  in  sending  poor  little  Ascott 
and  the  nurse  down  to  Stowbury,  the  baby  might  have 
died.  But  you  don't  remember  any  thing  of  that  time,  my 
dear,"  said  Johanna,  sighing. 

"  He  has  been  kind  enough,  though  he  has  done  it  in 
such  a  patronizing  way,"  observed  Selina.  "I  suppose 
that's  the  real  reason  of  his  doing  it.  He  thinks  it  fine  to 
patronize  us,  and  show  kindness  to  our  family;  he,  the 
stout,  bullet-headed  grocer's  boy,  who  used  to  sit  and  stare 
at  us  all  church-time." 

"  At  you,  you  mean.  Wasn't  he  called  your  beau  ?"  said 
Hilary,  mischievously,  upon  which  Selina  drew  herself  up 
in  great  indignation. 

And  then  they  fell  to  talking  of  that  anxious  question — • 
Ascott's  future.  A  little  they  reproached  themselves  that 
they  had  left  the  lad  so  long  in  London — so  long  out  of  the 
influence  that  might  have  counteracted  the  evil,  sharply 
hinted  in  his  godfather's  letter.  But  once  away,  to  lure 
him  back  to  their  poor  home  was  impossible. 

"  Suppose  we  were  to  go  to  him,"  suggested  Hilary. 

The  poor  and  friendless  possess  one  great  advantage — 
they  have  nobody  to  ask  advice  of;  nobody  to  whom  it 
matters  much  what  they  do  or  where  they  go.  The  family 
rnind  has  but  to  make  itself  up,  and  act  accordingly.  Thus, 
within  an  hour  or  two  of  the  receipt  of  Mr.  Ascott's  letter, 
Hilary  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  told  Elizabeth  that  as 
soon  as  her  work  was  done  Miss  Leaf  wished  to  have  a  lit- 
tle talk  with  her. 

"  Eh  !  what's  wrong  ?  Has  Miss  Selina  been  a-grum- 
bling  at  me  ?" 

Elizabeth  was  in  one  of  her  old  humors,  which,  though 
of  course  they  never  ought  to  have,  servants  do  have  as 
well  as  their  superiors.  Hilary  perceived  this  by  the  way 
she  threw  the  coals  on,  and  tossed  the  chairs  about.  BP* 


MISTRESS    AMD    MAID.  85 

to-day  her  heart  was  far  more  full  of  serious  cares  than 
Elizabeth's  ill  temper.     She  replied,  composedly, 

"I  have  not  heard  that  either  of  my  sisters  is  displeased 
with  you.     What  they  want  to  talk  to  you  about  is  for 
your   own   good.     We    are   thinking   of  making  a  great . 
change.     We  intend  leaving  Stowbury  and  going  to  live 
in  London." 

"  Going  to  live  in  London  !" 

Now,  quick  as  her  tact  and  observation  were — her  heart 
taught  her  these  things — Elizabeth's  head  was  a  thorough 
Saxon  one,  slow  to  receive  impressions.  It  was  a  family 
saying  that  nothing  was  so  hard  as  to  put  a  new  idea  into 
Elizabeth  except  to  get  it  out  again. 

For  this  reason  Hilary  preferred  paving  the  way  quiet- 
ly before  startling  her  with  the  sudden  intelligence  of 
their  contemplated  change. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  to  the  plan  ;''  asked  she,  good- 
humoredly. 

"  I  dunnot  like  it  at  all,"  was  the  brief,  gruff  answer  of 
Elizabeth  Hand. 

Now  it  was  one  of  Miss  Hilary's  doctrines  that  no  hu- 
man being  is  good  for  much  unless  he  or  she  has  what  is 
called  "  a  will  of  one's  own."  Perhaps  this,  like  many  an- 
other creed,  was  with  her  the  result  of  circumstances.  But 
she  held  it  firmly,  and  with  that  exaggerated  one-sided  ness 
of  feeling  which  any  bitter  family  or  personal  experience 
is  sure  to  leave  behind — a  strong  will  was  her  first  attrac- 
tion to  every  body.  It  had  been  so  in  the  case  of  Robert 
Lyon,  and  not  less  in  Elizabeth's. 

But  this  quality  has  its  inconveniences.  When  the 
maid  began  sweeping  up  her  hearth  with  a  noisy,  angry 
gesture,  the  mistress  did  the  wisest  and  most  dignified 
thing  a  mistress  could  do  under  the  circumstances,  and 
which  she  knew  was  the  sharpest  rebuke  she  could  admin- 
ister to  the  sensitive  Elizabeth — she  immediately  quitted 
the  kitchen. 

For  an  hour  after  the  parlor-bell  did  not  ring ;  and 
though  it  was  washing-day,  no  Miss  Hilary  appeared  to 


86  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

help  in  folding  up  the  clothes.  Elizabeth,  subdued  and 
wretched,  waited  till  she  could  wait  no  longer,  then  knock- 
ed at  the  door,  and  asked  humbly  if  she  could  bring  in 
supper. 

The  extreme  kindness  of  the  answer — to  the  effect  that 
she  must  come  in,  as  they  wanted  to  speak  to  her,  crushed 
the  lingering  fragments  of  ill  humor  out  of  the  girl. 

"  Miss  Hilary  has  told  you  our  future  plans,  Elizabeth ; 
now  we  wish  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you  about  yours." 

"  Eh  ?" 

"  We  conclude  you  will  not  wish  to  go  with  us  to  Lon- 
don, and  it  would  be  hardly  advisable  you  should.  You 
can  get  higher  wages  now  than  any  we  can  afford  to  give 
you ;  indeed,  we  have  more  than  once  thought  of  telling 
you  so,  and  offering  you  your  choice  of  trying  for  a  better 
place." 

"  You're  very  kind,"  was  the  answer,  stolid  rather  than 
grateful. 

"  No ;  I  think  we  are  merely  honest.  We  should  never 
think  of  keeping  a  girl  upon  lower  wages  than  she  was 
worth.  Hitherto,  however,  the  arrangement  has  been  quite 
fair;  you  know,  Elizabeth,  you  have  given  us  a  deal  of 
trouble  in  the  teaching  of  you."  And  Miss  Leaf  smiled, 
half  sadly,  as  if  this,  the  first  of  the  coming  changes,  hurt 
her  more  than  she  liked  to  express.  "  Come,  my  girl,"  she 
added, "  you  needn't  look  so  serious.  We  are  not  in  the 
least  vexed  with  you ;  we  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  you, 
and  we  will  give  you  the  best  of  characters  when  you 
leave." 

"  I  dunnot — mean — to  leave." 

Elizabeth  threw  out  the  words  like  pellets,  in  a  choked 
fashion,  and  disappeared  suddenly  from  the  parlor. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  it !"  exclaimed  Selina ;  "  I 
declare  the  girl  was  crying." 

No  mistake  about  that;  though  when,  a  few  minutes 
after,  Miss  Hilary  entered  the  kitchen,  Elizabeth  tried  in  a 
hurried,  shamefaced  way  to  hide  her  tears  by  being  very 
busy  over  something.  Her  mistress  took  no  notice,  but 


MISTKESS    AND   MAID.  87 

began,  as  usual  on  washing-days,  to  assist  in  various  do- 
mestic matters,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  said,  quietly, 

"And  so,  Elizabeth,  you  would  really  like  to  go  to  Lon- 
don?" 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  like  it  at  all — never  said  I  should.  But 
if  you  go,  I  shall  go  too — though  missis  is  so  ready  to  get 
shut  o'  me." 

"  It  was  for  your  own  good,  you  know." 

"  You  always  said  it  was  for  a  girl's  good  to  stop  in  one 
place ;  and  if  you  think  I  am  going  to  another — I  aren't, 
that's  all." 

Rude  as  the  form  of  the  speech  was — almost  the  first 
rude  speech  that  Elizabeth  had  ever  made  to  Miss  Hilary, 
and  which,  under  other  circumstances,  she  would  have  felt 
bound  severely  to  reprove — the  mistress  passed  it  over. 
That  which  lay  beneath  it,  the  sharpness  of  wounded  love, 
touched  her  heart.  She  felt  that,  for  all  the  girl's  rough 
manner,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  go  into  her  London 
kitchen  and  meet  a  strange  London  face,  instead  of  that 

O  ' 

fond,  homely  one  of  Elizabeth  Hand's. 

Still,  she  thought  it  right  to  explain  to  her  that  London 
life  might  have  many  difficulties ;  that,  for  the  present  at 
least,  her  wages  could  not  be  raised,  and  the  family  might 
at  first  be  in  even  more  straitened  circumstances  than  they 
were  at  Stowbury. 

"Only  at  first,  though,  for  I  hope  to  find  plenty  of 'pu- 
pils. And  by-and-by  our  nephew  will  get  into  practice." 

"Is  it  on  account  of  him  you're  going,  Miss  Hilary?" 

"Chiefly." 

Elizabeth  gave  a  grunt,  which  said  as  plainly  as  words 
could  say,  "  I  thought  so ;"  and  relapsed  into  what  she,  no 
doubt,  believed  to  be  virtuous  indignation,  but  which,  as  it 
was  testified  against  the  wrong  parties,  was  open  to  the 
less  favorable  interpretation  of  ill  humor — a  small  injustice 
not  uncommon  with  us  all. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  paint  this  young  woman  as  a  perfect 
character.  She  had  her  fierce  dislikes  as  well  as  her  strong 
fidelities;  her  faults  within  and  without,  which  had  to  be 


88  MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  ^ 

struggled  with,  as  all  of  us  have  to  struggle  to  the  very 
end  of  our  days.  Oftentimes  not  till  the  battle  is  nigh 
over — sometimes  not  till  it  is  quite  over — does  God  give 
us  the  victory  ? 

Without  more  discussion  on  either  side,  it  was  agreed 
that  Elizabeth  should  accompany  her  mistresses.  Even 
Mrs.  Hand  seemed  to  be  pleased  thereat,  her  only  doubt 
being  lest  her  daughter  should  meet  and  be  led  astray  by 
that  bad  woman  Mrs.  Cliffe,  Tommy  Cliffe's  mother,  who 
was  reported  to  have  gone  to  London.  But  Miss  Hilary 
explained  that  this  meeting  was  about  as  probable  as  the 
rencontre  of  two  needles  in  a  hay-rick ;  and,  besides,  Eliza- 
beth was  not  the  sort  of  girl  to  be  easily  "  led  astray"  by 
any  body. 

"  No,  no ;  her's  a  good  wench,  though  I  says  it,1'  replied 
the  mother,  who  was  too  hard  worked  to  have  much  senti- 
ment to  spare.  "  I  wish  the  little  'uns  may  take  pattern 
by  our  Elizabeth.  You'll  send  her  home,  maybe,  in  two 
or  three  years'  time,  to  let  us  have  a  look  at  her  V" 

Miss  Hilary  promised,  and  then  took  her  way  back 
through  the  familiar  old  town — so  soon  to  be  familiar  no 
more — thinking  anxiously,  in  spite  of  herself,  upon  those 
two  or  three  years,  and  what  they  might  bring. 

It  happened  to  be  a  notable  day — that  sunshiny  28th  of 
June  —  when  the  little  round  -  cheeked  damsel,  who  is  a 
grandmother  now,  had  the  crown  of  three  kingdoms  first 
set  upon  her  youthful  head,  and  Stowbury,  like  every  oth- 
er town  in  the  land,  was  a  perfect  bower  of  green  arches, 
garlands,  banners ;  white-covered  tables  were  spread  in  the 
open  air  down  almost  every  street,  where  poor  men  dined, 
or  poor  women  drank  tea;  and  every  body  was  out  and 
abroad,  looking  at  or  sharing  in  the  holiday-making,  wild 
with  merriment,  and  brimming  over  with  passionate  loyal- 
ty to  the  Maiden  Queen. 

That  day  is  now  twenty-four  years  ago;  but  all  those 
who  remember  it  must  own  there  never  has  been  a  day 
like  it,  when,  all  over  the  country,  every  man's  heart  throb- 
bed with  chivalrous  devotion,  every  woman's  with  worn- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  89 

anly  tenderness,  toward  this  one  royal  girl,  who — God  bless 
her ! — has  lived  to  retain  and  deserve  it  all. 

Hilary  called  for,  and  protected  through  the  crowd  the 
little,  timid  widow  lady  who  had  taken  off  the  Misses 
Leaf's  hands  their  house  and  furniture,  and  whom  they  had 
made  very  happy — as  the  poor  often  can  make  those  still 
poorer  than  themselves — by  refusing  to  accept  any  thing 
for  the  "  good-will"  of  the  school.  Then  she  was  fetched 
by  Elizabeth,  who  had  been  given  a  whole  afternoon's  hol- 
iday ;  and  mistress  and  maid  went  together  home,  watch- 
ing the  last  of  the  festivities,  the  chattering  groups  that 
still  lingered  in  the  twilight  streets,  and  listening  to  the 
merry  notes  of  the  "Triumph"  which  came  down  through 
the  lighted  windows  of  the  Town  Hall,  where  the  open-air 
tea-drinkers  had  adjourned  to  dance  country  dances,  by 
civic  permission,  and  in  perfectly  respectable  jollity. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Hilary  —  v.hile,  despite  some  natural 
regret,  her  spirit  stretched  itself  out  eagerly  from  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  place  w7here  she  was  born  into  the  great 
wide  world;  the  world  where  so  many  grand  things  were 
thought,  and  written,  and  done ;  the  world  Robert  Lyon 
had  so  long  fought  with,  and  was  fighting  bravely  still — 
"  I  wonder,  Elizabeth,  what  sort  of  place  London  is,  and 
what  our  life  will  be  in  it  ?" 

Elizabeth  said  nothing.  For  the  moment  her  face  seem- 
ed to  catch  the  reflected  glow  of  her  mistress's,  and  then 
it  settled  down  into  that  look  of  mingled  resistance  and 
resolution  which  was  habitual  to  her.  For  the  life  that 
was  to  be,  which  neither  knew — oh,  if  they  had  known  ! — 
she  also  was  prepared. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  day  of  the  grand  hegira  came. 

"  I  remember,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  as  they  rumbled  for  the 
last  time  through  the  empty  morning  streets  of  poor  old 
Stowbury — "  I  remember  my  grandmother  telling  me  that 


90  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

when  my  grandfather  was  courting  her,  and  she  out  of  co- 
quetry refused  him,  he  set  off  on  horseback  to  London,  and 
she  was  so  wretched  to  think  of  all  the  dangers  he  ran  on 
the  journey,  and  in  London  itself,  that  she  never  rested  till 
she  got  him  back,  and  then  immediately  married  him." 

"  No  such  catastrophe  is  likely  to  happen  to  any  of  us, 
except,  perhaps,  to  Elizabeth,"  said  Miss  Hilary,  trying  to 
get  up  a  little  feeble  mirth,  any  thing  to  pass  away  the 
time  and  lessen  the  pain  of  parting,  which  was  almost  too 
much  for  Johanna.  "  What  do  you  say  ?  Do  you  mean 
to  get  married  in  London,  Elizabeth?" 

But  Elizabeth  could  make  no  answer,  even  to  kind  Miss 
Hilary.  They  had  not  imagined  she  felt  the  leaving  her 
native  place  so  much.  She  had  watched  intently  the  last 
glimpse  of  Stowbury  church  tower,  and  now  sat  with  red- 
dened eyes,  staring  blankly  out  of  the  carriage  window, 

"Silent  as  a  stone." 

Once  or  twice  a  large  slow  tear  gathered  on  each  of  her 
eyes,  but  it  was  shaken  off  angrily  from  the  high  cheek- 
bones, and  never  settled  into  absolute  crying.  They 
thought  it  best  to  take  no  notice  of  her.  Only,  when  reach- 
ing the  new  small  station,  where  the  "  resonant  steam-ea- 
gles" were,  for  the  first  time,  beheld  by  the  innocent  Stow- 
bury ladies,  there  arose  a  discussion  as  to  the  manner  of 
traveling.  Miss  Leaf  said  decidedly,  "  Second-class  ;  and 
then  we  can  keep  Elizabeth  with  us."  Upon  which  Eliza- 
beth's mouth  melted  into  something  between  a  quiver  and 
a  smile. 

Soon  it  was  all  over,  and  the  little  household  was  com- 
pressed into  the  humble  second-class  carriage,  cheerless 
and  cushionless,  whirling  through  indefinite  England  in  a 
way  that  confounded  all  their  geography  and  topography. 
Gradually,  as  the  day  darkened  into  heavy,  chilly  July 
rain,  the  scarcely  kept-up  spirits  of  the  four  passengers  be- 
gan to  sink.  Johanna  grew  very  white  and  worn;  Selina 
became,  to  use  Ascott's  phrase, "  as  cross  as  two  sticks ;" 
and  even  Hilary,  turning  her  eyes  from  the  gray,  sodden- 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  91 

looking  landscape  without,  could  find  no  spot  of  comfort  to 
rest  on  within  the  carriage  except  that  round  rosy  face  of 
Elizabeth  Hand's. 

Whether  it  was  from  the  spirit  of  contradiction  existing 
in  most  such  natures,  which,  especially  in  youth,  are  more 
strong  than  sweet,  or  from  a  better  feeling,  the  fact  was 
noticeable,  that  when  every  one  else's  spirits  went  down 
Elizabeth's  went  up.  Nothing  could  bring  her  out  of  a 
"grumpy"  fit  so  satisfactorily  as  her  mistresses  falling  into 
one.  When  Miss  Selina  now  began  to  fidget  hither  and 
thither,  each  tone  of  her  fretful  voice  seeming  to  go 
through  her  eldest  sister's  every  nerve,  till  even  Hilary 
said,  impatiently,  "  Oh,  Selina,  can't  you  be  quiet  ?"  then 
Elizabeth  rose  from  her  depth  of  gloomy  discontent  up  to 
the  surface  immediately. 

She  was  only  a  servant ;  but  Nature  bestows  that  strange 
vague  thing  that  we  term  "  force  of  character"  independ- 
ently of  position.  Hilary  often  remembered  afterward  how 
much  more  comfortable  the  end  of  the  journey  was  than 
she  had  expected — how  Johanna  lay  at  ease,  with  her  feet 
on  Elizabeth's  lap,  wrapped  in  Elizabeth's  best  woolen 
shawl;  and  how,  when  Selina's  whole  attention  was  turn- 
ed to  an  ingenious  contrivance  with  a  towel,  and  fork,  and 
Elizabeth's  basket,  for  stopping  the  rain  out  of  the  car- 
riage-roof—she became  far  less  disagreeable,  and  even  a 
little  proud  of  her  own  cleverness.  And  so  there  was  a 
temporary  lull  in  Hilary's  cares,  and  she  could  sit  quiet, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  rainy  landscape,  which  she  did 
not  see,  and  her  thoughts  wandering  toward  that  unknown 
place  and  unknown  life  into  which  they  were  sweeping,  as 
we  all  sweep,  ignorantly,  unresistingly,  almost  unconscious- 
ly, into  new  destinies.  Hilary,  for  the  first  time,  began  to 
think  of  theirs.  Anxious  as  she  had  been  to  go  to  London, 
and  wise  as  the  proceeding  appeared,  now  that  the  die  was 
cast  and  the  cable  cut,  the  old,  simple,  peaceful  life  at  Stow- 
bury  grew  strangely  dear. 

"  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  go  back  again,  or  what  is  to 
happen  to  us  before  we  do  go  back,"  she  thought,  and 


92  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

turned,  with  a  half-defined  fear,  toward  her  eldest  sister, 
who  looked  so  old  and  fragile  beside  that  sturdy,  healthy 
servant-girl.  "Elizabeth!"  Elizabeth,  rubbing  Miss  Leaf  7s 
feet,  started  at  the  unwonted  sharpness  of  Miss  Hilary's 
tone.  "There;  I'll  do  that  for  my  sister.  Go  and  look 
out  of  the  window  at  London." 

For  the  great  smoky  cloud  which  began  to  rise  in  the 
rainy  horizon  was  indeed  London.  Soon  through  the  thick- 
ening nebula  of  houses  they  converged  to  what  was  then 
the  nucleus  of  all  railway  traveling,  the  Euston  Terminus, 
and  were  hustled  on  to  the  platform,  and  jostled  helplessly 
to  and  fro — these  poor  country  ladies !  Anxiously  they 
scanned  the  crowd  of  strange  faces  for  the  one  only  face 
they  knew  in  the  great  metropolis — which  did  not  appear. 

"  It  is  very  strange — very  wrong  of  Ascott.  Hilary,  you 
surely  told  him  the  hour  correctly.  For  once,  at  least,  he 
might  have  been  in  time." 

So  chafed  Miss  Selina,  while  Elizabeth,  who,  by  some  mi- 
raculous effort  of  intuitive  genius,  had  succeeded  in  collect- 
ing the  luggage,  was  now  engaged  in  defending  it  from  all 
comers,  especially  porters,  and  making  of  it  a  comfortable 
seat  for  Miss  Leaf. 

"  Nay,  have  patience,  Selina.  We  will  give  him  just 
five  minutes  more,  Hilary." 

And  Johanna  sat  down,  with  her  sweet,  calm,  long-suffer- 
ing face  turned  upward  to  that  younger  one,  which  was,  as 
youth  is  apt  to  be,  hot,  and  worried,  and  angry.  And  so 
they  waited  till  the  terminus  was  almost  deserted,  and  the 
last  cab  had  driven  off,  when,  suddenly,  dashing  up  the 
station-yard  out  of  another,  came  Ascott. 

He  Avas  so  sorry,  so  very  sorry,  downright  grieved,  at 
having  kept  his  aunts  waiting.  But  his  watch  was  wrong 
— some  fellows  at  dinner  detained  him — the  train  was  be- 
fore its  time,  surely.  In  fact,  his  aunts  never  quite  made 
out  what  the  excuse  was ;  but  they  looked  into  his  bright, 
handsome  face,  and  their  wrath  melted  like  clouds  before 
the  sun.  He  was  so  gentlemanly,  so  well  dressed — much 
better  dressed  than  even  at  Stowbury,  and  he  seemed  so 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  93 

unfeignedly  glad  to  see  them.  He  handed  them  all  into 
the  cab — even  Elizabeth,  though  whispering  meanwhile  to 
his  Aunt  Hilary,  "What  on  earth  did  you  bring  her  for?* 
— and  then  was  just  going  to  leap  on  to  the  box  himself, 
when  he  stopped  to  ask  "  Where  he  should  tell  cabby  to 
drive  to?" 

"  Where  to  ?"  repeated  his  aunts,  in  undisguised  aston- 
ishment. They  had  never  thought  of  any  thing  but  of  be- 
ing taken  home  at  once  by  their  boy. 

"  You  see,"  Ascott  said,  in  a  little  confusion,  "  you 
wouldn't  be  comfortable  with  me.  A  young  fellow's  lodg- 
ings are  not  like  a  house  of  one's  own,  and,  besides — 

"  Besides,  when  a  young  fellow  is  ashamed  of  his  old 
aunts,  he  can  easily  find  reasons." 

"  Hush,  Selina  !"  interposed  Miss  Leaf.  "My  dear  boy, 
your  old  aunts  would  never  let  you  inconvenience  your- 
self for  them.  Take  us  to  an  inn  for  the  night,  and  to- 
morrow we  will  find  lodgings  for  ourselves." 

Ascott  looked  greatly  relieved. 

"And  you  are  not  vexed  with  me,  Aunt  Johanna  ?"  said 
he,  with  something  of  his  old  childish  tone  of  compunction, 
as  he  saw — he  could  not  help  -seeing — the  utter  weariness 
which  Johanna  tried  so  hard  to  hide. 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  vexed.  Only  I  wish  we  had  known 
this  a  little  sooner,  that  we  might  have  made  arrange- 
ments. Now,  where  shall  wre  go  ?" 

Ascott  mentioned  a  dozen  hotels,  but  they  found  he  only 
knew  them  by  name.  At  last  Miss  Leaf  remembered  one 
which  her  father  used  to  go  to  on  his  frequent  journeys  to 
London,  and  whence,  indeed,  he  had  been  brought  home  to 
die.  And  though  all  the  recollections  about  it  were  sad 
enough,  still  it  felt  less  strange  than  the  rest  in  this  dreari- 
ness of  London.  So  she  proposed  going  to  the  "  Old  Bell," 
Hoi  born. 

"  A  capital  place  !"  exclaimed  Ascott,  eagerly.  "  And 
I'll  take  and  settle  you  there ;  and  we'll  order  supper,  and 
make  a  jolly  night  of  it.  All  right.  Drive  on,  cabby  !" 

He  jumped  on  the  box,  and  then  looked  in  mischievous- 


94  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

ly,  flourishing  his  lit  cigar,  and  shaking  his  long  hair — his 
aunt  Selina's  two  great  abominations — right  in  her  indig- 
nant face,  but  withal  looking  so  merry  and  good-tempered 
that  she  shortly  softened  into  a  smile. 

"How  handsome  the  boy  is  growing !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Johanna,  with  a  sigh ;  "  and,  did  you  notice  ? 
how  exceedingly  like  his — " 

The  sentence  was  left  unfinished.  Alas  !  if  every  young 
man  who  believes  his  faults  and  follies  injure  himself  alone 
could  feel  what  it  must  be,  years  afterward,  to  have  his 
nearest  kindred  shrink  from  saying,  as  the  saddest,  most 
ominous  thing  they  could  say  of  his  son,  that  the  lad  is 
growing  "  so  like  his  father  !" 

It  might  have  been — they  assured  each  other  that  it  was 
— only  the  incessant  roll,  roll  of  the  street  sounds  below 
their  windows  which  kept  the  Misses  Leaf  awake  half  the 
night  of  this  their  first  night  in  London.  And  when  they 
sat  down  to  breakfast— having  waited  an  hour  vainly  for 
their  nephew — it  might  have  been  only  the  gloom  of  the 
little  parlor  which  cast  a  slight  shadow  over  them  all. 
Still  the  shadow  was  there. 

It  deepened,  despite  the  sunshiny  morning  into  which 
the  last  night's  rain  had  brightened  until  Holborn  Bars 
looked  cheerful,  and  Holborn  pavement  actually  clean,  so 
that,  as  Elizabeth  said,  "  you  might  eat  your  dinner  off  it," 
which  was  the  one  only  thing  she  condescended  to  approve 
in  London.  She  had  sat  all  evening  mute  in  her  corner, 
for  Miss  Leaf  would  not  send  her  away  into  the  terra  in- 
cognita of  a  London  hotel.  Ascott,  at  first  considerably 
annoyed  at  the  presence  of  what  he  called  a  "  skeleton  at 
the  feast,"  had  afterward  got  over  it,  and  run  on  with  a 
mixture  of  childish  glee  and  mannish  pomposity  about  his 
plans  and  intentions  :  how  he  meant  to  take  a  house,  he 
thought,  in  one  of  the  squares,  or  a  street  leading  out  of 
them ;  how  he  would  put  up  the  biggest  of  brass  plates, 
with  "Mr.  Leaf,  surgeon,"  and  soon  get  an  extensive  prac- 
tice, and  have  all  his  aunts  to  live  with  him.  And  his 
aunts  had  smiled  and  listened,  forgetting  all  about  the  si- 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  95 

lent  figure  in  the  corner,  who,  perhaps,  had  gone  to  sleep, 
or  had  also  listened. 

"Elizabeth,  come  and  look  out  at  London." 

So  she  and  Miss  Hilary  whiled  away  another  heavy 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  in  watching  and  commenting  on 
the  incessantly  shifting  crowd  which  swept  past  Holborn 
Bars.  Miss  Selina  sometimes  looked  out  too,  but  more 
often  sat  fidgeting,  and  wondering  why  Ascott  did  not 
come ;  while  Miss  Leaf,  who  never  fidgeted,  became  gradu- 
ally more  and  more  silent.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
door  with  an  expression  wrhich,  if  Hilary  could  have  re- 
membered so  far  back,  would  have  been  to  her  something 
not  painfully  new,  but  still  more  painfully  old — a  look 
branded  into  her  face  by  many  an  hour's  anxious  listening 
for  the  footsteps  that  never  came,  or  only  came  to  bring 
distress.  It  was  the  ineffaceable  token  of  that  long,  long 
struggle  between  affection  and  conscience,  pity  and  scarce- 
ly repressible  contempt,  which  for  more  than  one  genera- 
tion had  been  the  appointed  burden  of  this  family — at  least 
the  women  of  it,  till  sometimes  it  seemed  to  hang  over 
them  almost  like  a  fate. 

About  noon  Miss  Leaf  proposed  calling  for  the  hotel  bill. 
Its  length  so  alarmed  the  country  ladies  that  Hilary  sug- 
gested not  staying  to  dine,  but  going  immediately  in  search 
of  lodgings. 

"  What,  without  a  gentleman  !  Impossible  !  I  always 
understood  ladies  could  go  nowhere  in  London  without  a 
gentleman !" 

"  We  shall  come  very  ill  off,  then,  Selina.  But,  anyhow, 
I  mean  to  try.  You  know  the  region  where,  we  have  heard, 
lodgings  are  cheapest  and  best — that  is,  best  for  us.  It  can 
not  be  far  from  here.  Suppose  I  start  at  once  ?" 

"  What,  alone  ?"  cried  Johanna,  anxiously. 

"  No,  dear.  I'll  take  the  map  with  me,  and  Elizabeth. 
She  is  not  afraid." 

Elizabeth  smiled,  and  rose,  with  that  air  of  dogged  de- 
votedness  with  which  she  would  have  prepared  to  follow 
Miss  Hilary  to  the  North  Pole  if  necessary.  So,  after  a 


96  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

few  minutes  of  arguing  with  Selina,  who  did  not  press  her 
point  overmuch,  since  she  herself  had  not  to  commit  the 
impropriety  of  the  expedition ;  after  a  few  minutes  more 
of  hopeless  lingering  about,  till  even  Miss  Leaf  said  they 
had  better  wait  no  longer,  mistress  and  maid  took  a  fare- 
well nearly  as  pathetic  as  if  they  had  been  in  reality  Arc- 
tic voyagers,  and  plunged  right  into  the  dusty  glare  and 
hurrying  crowd  of  the  "  sunny  side"  of  Holborn  in  July. 

A  strange  sensation,  and  yet  there  was  something  exhil- 
arating in  it.  The  intense  solitude  that  there  is  in  a  Lon- 
don crowd  these  country  girls — for  Miss  Hilary  herself 
was  no  more  than  a  girl — could  not  as  yet  realize.  They 
only  felt  the  life  of  it;  stirring,  active,  incessantly  moving 
life,  even  though  it  was  of  a  kind  that  they  knew  as  little 
of  it  as  the  crowd  did  of  them.  Nothing  struck  Hilary 
more  than  the  self-absorbed  look  of  passers-by ;  each  so 
busy  on  his  own  affairs  that,  in  spite  of  Selina's  alarm,  for 
all  notice  taken  of  them,  they  might  as  well  be  walking 
among  the  cows  and  horses  in  Stowbury  field. 

Poor  old  Stowbury  !  They  felt  how  far  away  they  were 
from  it  when  a  ragged,  dirty,  vicious-looking  girl  offered 
them  a  moss  rose-bud  for  "  one  penny,  only  one  penny," 
which  Elizabeth,  lagging  behind,  bought,  and  found  it  only 
a  broken-off  bud  stuck  on  to  a  bit  of  wire. 

"  That's  London  ways,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  severely,  and 
became  so  misanthropic  that  she  would  hardly  vouchsafe  a 
glance  to  the  handsome  square  they  turned  into,  and  mere- 
ly observed  of  the  tall  houses — taller  than  any  Hilary  had 
ever  seen,  that  she  "  wouldn't  fancy  Vanning  up  and  down 
them  stairs." 

But  Hilary  was  cheerful  in  spite  of  all.  She  was  glad  to 
be  in  this  region,  which  theoretically  she  knew  by  heart — 
glad  to  find  herself  in  the  body  where  in  the  spirit  she  had 
come  so  many  a  time.  The  mere  consciousness  of  this 
seemed  to  refresh  her.  She  thought  she  would  be  much 
happier  in  London ;  that  in  the  long  years  to  come  that 
must  be  borne,  it  would  be  good  for  her  to  have  something 
to  do  as  well  as  to  hope  for,  something  to  fight  with  as 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  97 

well  as  to  endure.  Now  more  than  ever  came  pulsing  in 
and  out  of  her  memory  a  line  once  repeated  in  her  hearing, 
with  an  observation  of  how  "  true"  it  was.  And  though 
originally  it  was  applied  by  a  man  to  a  woman,  and  she 
smiled  sometimes  to  think  how  "  unfeminine"  some  people 
— Selina,  for  instance — would  consider  her  turning  it  the 
other  way,  still  she  did  so.  She  believed  that,  for  woman 
as  for  man,  that  is  the  purest  and  noblest  love  which  is  the 
most  self-existent,  most  independent  of  love  returned,  and 
Avhich  can  say  each  to  the  other  equally  on  both  sides  that 
the  whole  solemn  purpose  of  life  is,  under  God's  service, 

"If  not  to  win,  to  feel  more  worthy  thee." 

Such  thoughts  made  her  step  firmer  and  her  heart  light- 
er, so  that  she  hardly  noticed  the  distance  they  must  have 
walked  till  the  close  London  air  began  to  oppress  her,  and 
the  smooth  glaring  London  pavements  made  her  Stowbury 
feet  ache  sorely. 

"Are  you  tired,  Elizabeth  ?  Well,  we'll  rest  soon.  There 
must  be  lodgings  near  here.  Only  I  can't  quite  make 
out—" 

As  Miss  Hilary  looked  up  to  the  name  of  the  street,  the 
maid  noticed  what  a  glow  came  into  her  mistress's  face, 
pale  and  tired  as  it  was.  Just  then  a  church  clock  struck 
the  quarter  hour. 

u  That  must  be  St.  Pancras.  And  this — yes,  this  is  Bur- 
ton Street,  Burton  Crescent." 

"I'm  sure  missis  wouldn't  like  to  live  there,"  observed 
Elizabeth,  eying  uneasily  the  gloomy  rez-de-chaussee,  fa- 
miliar to  many  a  generation  of  struggling  respectability, 
where,  in  the  decadence  of  the  season,  every  second  house 
bore  the  announcement "  apartments  furnished." 

"No,"  Miss  Hilary  replied,  absently.  Yet  she  contin- 
ued to  walk  up  and  down  the  whole  length  of  the  street ; 
then  passed  out  into  the  dreary,  deserted-looking  Crescent, 
where  the  trees  were  already  beginning  to  fade ;  not,  how- 
ever, into  the  bright  autumn  tint  of  country  woods,  but 
into  a  premature  withering,  ugly  and  sad  to  behold. 

E 


98  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

"I  am  glad  he  is  not  here — glad,  glad  !"  thought  Hilary, 
as  she  realized  the  unutterable  dreariness  of  those  years 
when  Robert  Lyon  lived  and  studied  in  his  garret  from 
month's  end  to  month's  end — these  few  dusty  trees  being 
the  sole  memento  of  the  green  country  life  in  which  he  had 
been  brought  up,  and  which  she  knew  he  so  passionately 
loved.  Now  she  could  understand  that  "calenture"  which 
he  had  sometimes  jestingly  alluded  to,  as  coming  upon  him 
at  times,  when  he  felt  literally  sick  for  the  sight  of  a  green 
field  or  a  hedge  full  of  birds.  She  wondered  whether  the 
same  feeling  would  ever  come  upon  her  in  this  strange  des- 
ert of  London,  the  vastness  of  which  grew  upon  her  every 
hour. 

She  was  glad  he  was  away — yes,  heart-glad  !  And  yet, 
if  this  minute  she  could  only  have  seen  him  coming  round 
the  Crescent ;  have  met  his  smile,  and  the  firm,  warm  clasp 
of  his  hand — 

For  an  instant  there  rose  up  in  her  one  of  those  wild,  re- 
bellious outcries  against  fate,  when  to  have  to  waste  years 
of  this  brief  life  of  ours  in  the  sort  of  semi-existence  that 
living  is,  apart  from  the  treasure  of  the  heart  and  delight 
of  the  eyes,  seems  so  cruelly,  cruelly  hard  ! 

"  Miss  Hilary— " 

She  started,  and  "put  herself  under  lock  and  key"  im- 
mediately. 

"  Miss  Hilary,  you  do  look  so  tired  !" 

"  Do  I  ?  Then  we  will  go  and  sit  down  in  this  baker's 
shop,  and  get  rested  and  fed.  We  can  not  afford  to  wear 
ourselves  out,  you  know.  We  have  a  great  deal  to  do  to- 
day." 

More  indeed  than  she  calculated,  for  they  walked  up  one 
street  and  down  another,  investigating  at  least  twenty 
lodgings  before  any  appeared  which  seemed  fit  for  them. 
Yet  some  place  must  be  found  where  Johanna's  poor  tired 
head  could  rest  that  night.  At  last,  completely  exhausted, 
with  that  oppressive  exhaustion  which  seems  to  crush  mind 
as  well  as  body  after  a  day's  wandering  in  London,  Hilary's 
courage  began  to  ebb.  Oh  for  an  arm  to  lean  on,  a  voice 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  99 

to  listen  for,  a  brave  heart  to  come  to  her  side,  saying,  "  Do 
not  be  afraid,  there  are  two  of  us !"  And  she  yearned,  with 
an  absolutely  sick  yearning  such  as  only  a  woman  who  now 
and  then  feels  the  utter  helplessness  of  her  womanhood  can 
know,  for  the  only  arm  she  cared  to  lean  on,  the  only  voice 
dear  enough  to  bring  her  comfort,  the  only  heart  she  felt 
she  could  trust. 

Poor  Hilary!  And  yet  why  pity  her?  To  her  three 
alternatives  could  but  happen  :  were  Robert  Lyon  true  to 
her,  she  would  be  his,  entirely  and  devotedly,  to  the  end  of 
her  days ;  did  he  forsake  her,  she  would  forgive  him ;  should 
he  die,  she  would  be  faithful  to  him  eternally.  Love  of  this 
kind  may  know  anguish,  but  not  the  sort  of  anguish  that 
lesser  and  weaker  loves  do.  If  it  is  certain  of  nothing  else, 
it  can  always  be  certain  of  itself. 

"Its  will  is  strong: 
It  suffers :  but  it  can  not  suffer  long." 

And  even  in  its  utmost  pangs  is  an  underlying  peace  which 
often  approaches  to  absolute  joy. 

Hilary  roused  herself,  and  bent  her  mind  steadily  on  lodg- 
ings till  she  discovered  one,  from  the  parlor  of  which  you 
could  see  the  trees  of  Burton  Crescent  and  hear  the  sound 
of  Saint  Pancras's  clock. 

"  I  think  we  may  do  here — at  least  for  a  while,"  said  she, 
cheerfully ;  and  then  Elizabeth  heard  her  inquiring  if  an 
extra  bedroom  could  be  had  if  necessary. 

There  was  only  one  small  attic.  "Ascott  never  could 
put  up  with  that,"  said  Hilary,  half  to  herself.  Then  sud- 
denly— "  I  think  I  will  see  Ascott  before  I  decide.  Eliza- 
beth, will  you  go  with  me,  or  remain  here  ?" 

"  I'll  go  with  you  if  you  please,  Miss  Hilary." 

"  If  you  please"  sounded  not  unlike  "  if  I  please,"  and 
Elizabeth  had  gloomed  over  a  little.  "  Is  Mr.  Ascott  to 
live  with  us  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 

No  more  words  were  interchanged  till  they  reached 
Gower  Street,  when  Miss  Hilary  observed,  with  evident 
surprise,  what  a  handsome  street  it  was. 


100  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

"  I  must  have  made  some  mistake.  Still  we  will  find  out 
Mr.  Ascott's  number,  and  inquire." 

No,  there  was  no  mistake.  Mr.  Ascott  Leaf  had  lodged 
there  for  three  months,  but  had  given  up  his  rooms  that 
very  morning. 

"  Where  had  he  gone  to  ?" 

The  servant. — a  London  lodging-house  servant  all  over 
—didn't  know:  but  she  fetched  the  landlady,  who  was  aft-. 
er  the  same  pattern  of  the  dozen  London  landladies  with 
whom  Hilary  had  that  day  made  acquaintance,  only  a  little 
more  Cockney,  smirking,  dirty,  and  tawdrily  fine. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Leaf  had  gone,  and  he  hadn't  left  no  address. 
Young  college  gentlemen  often  found  it  convenient  to  leave 
no  address.  P'raps  he  would  if  he'd  known  there  would 
be  a  young  lady  a-calling  to  see  him." 

"I  am  Mr.  Leaf's  aunt,"  said  Hilary,  turning  as  hot  as  fire. 

Ct  Oh,  in-deed,"  was  the  answer,  with  civil  incredulous- 
ness. 

But  the  woman  was  sharp  of  perception,  as  often-cheat- 
ed London  landladies  learn  to  be.  After  looking  keenly  at 
mistress  and  maid,  she  changed  her  tone,  nay,  even  launch- 
ed out  in  praises  of  her  late  lodger:  what  a  pleasant  gen- 
tleman he  was;  what  good  company  he  kept,  and  how  he 
had  promised  to  recommend  her  apartments  to  his  friends. 

"  And  as  for  the  little  some'at  of  rent,  miss,  tell  him  it 
makes  no  matter;  he  can  pay  me  when  he  likes.  If  he 
don't  call  soon,  p'raps  I  might  make  bold  to  send  his  trunk 
and  his  books  over  to  Mr.  Ascott's  of — dear  me,  I  forget 
the  number  and  the  square." 

Hilary  unsuspiciously  supplied  both. 

"Yes,  that's  it — the  old  gen'leman  as  Mr.  Leaf  went  to 
dine  with  every  other  Sunday — a  very  rich  old  gentleman, 
who,  he  says,  is  to  leave  him  all  his  money.  Maybe  a  re- 
lation of  yours,  miss  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Hilary ;  and  adding  something  about  the 
landlady's  hearing  from  Mr.  Leaf  very  soon,  she  hurried  out 
of  the  house,  Elizabeth  following. 

"Won't  you  be  tired  if  you  walk  so  fast,  Miss  Hilary?" 


MISTRESS   AK^D   M\ir.  101 


Hilary  stopped,  choking.  Helplessly,  she  looked  up  and 
down  the  forlorn,  wide,  glaring,  tlu;st,y;  scrteefo&aw;. sinking 
into  the  dull  shadow  of  a  London  afternoon. 

"  Let  us  go  home  !"  And  at  the  word  a  sob  burst  out — 
just  one  passionate  pent-up  sob.  r^o  more.  She  could  not 
afford  to  waste  strength  in  crying. 

"As  you  say,  Elizabeth,  I  am  getting  tired,  and  that  will 
not  do.  Let  me  see;  something  must  be  decided."  And 
she  stood  still,  passing  her  hand  over  her  hot  brow  and  eyes. 
"I  will  go  back  and  take  the  lodgings,  leave  you  there  to 
make  all  comfortable,  and  then  fetch  my  sisters  from  the 
hotel.  But  stay  first ;  I  have  forgotten  something." 

She  returned  to  the  house  in  Gower  Street,  and  wrote  on 
one  of  her  cards  an  address — the  only  permanent  address 
she  could  think  of — that  of  the  city  broker  who  was  in  the 
habit  of  paying  them  their  yearly  income  of  £50. 

"If  any  creditors  inquire  for  Mr.  Leaf,  give  them  this. 
His  friends  may  always  hear  of  him  at  the  London  Univer- 
sity." 

u  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  replied  the  nov  civil  landlady. 
"  Indeed,  I  wasn't  afraid  of  the  young  gentleman  giving  us 
the  slip ;  for,  though  he  was  careless  in  his  bills,  he  was 
every  inch  the  gentleman.  And  I  wouldn't  object  to  take 
him  in  again.  Or  p'raps  you  yourself,  ma'am,  might  be  a- 
w  an  ting  rooms." 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  Good  morning."  And  Hilary  hur- 
ried away. 

Not  a  word  did  she  say  to  Elizabeth,  or  Elizabeth  to 
her,  till  they  got  into  the  dull,  dingy  parlor — henceforth 
to  be  their  sole  apology  for  "  home ;"  and  then  she  only 
talked  about  domestic  arrangements — talked  fast  and  ea- 
gerly, and  tried  to  escape  the  affectionate  eyes  which  she 
knew  were  so  sharp  and  keen.  Only  to  escape  them — not 
to  blind  them ;  she  had  long  ago  found  out  that  Elizabeth 
was  too  quick-witted  for  that,  especially  in  any  thing  that 
concerned  "the  family."  She  felt  convinced  the  girl  had 
heard  every  syllable  that  passed  at  Ascott's  lodgings :  that 
she  knew  all  that  was  to  be  known,  and  guessed  what  was 
to  be  feared  as  well  as  Hilary  herself. 


102  MISTft^Sk    AND    MAID. 

"Elizabeth" — she  hesitated  long,  and  doubted  whether 
she  should  g?y  tth£  *hiBg  before  she  did  say  it — "  remem- 
ber we  are  all  strangers  in  London,  and  family  matters 
are  best  kept  within  the  family.  Do  not  mention  either 
in  writing  home,  or  to  any  body  here  about — about — '' 

She  could  not  name  Ascott,  she  felt  so  horribly  ashamed. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LIVING  in  lodgings,  not  temporarily,  but  permanently, 
sitting  down  to  make  one's  only  "  home"  in  Mrs.  Jones's 
parlor  or  Mrs.  Smith's  first-floor,  of  which  not  a  stick  or  a 
stone  that  one  looks  at  is  one's  own,  and  whence  one  may 
be  evicted  or  evade,  with  a  week's  notice  or  a  week's  rent, 
any  day — this  sort  of  life  is  natural  and  even  delightful  to 
some  people.  There  are  those  who,  like  strawberry  plants, 
are  of  such  an  errant  disposition,  that,  grow  them  where 
you  will,  they  will  soon  absorb  all  the  pleasantness  of  their 
habitat,  and  begin  casting  out  runners  elsewhere ;  nay,  if 
not  frequently  transplanted,  would  actually  wither  and  die. 
Of  such  are  the  pioneers  of  society — the  emigrants,  the  tour- 
ists, the  travelers  round  the  world ;  and  great  is  the  advan- 
tage the  world  derives  from  them,  active,  energetic,  and  im- 
pulsive as  they  are — unless,  indeed,  their  talent  for  inces- 
sant locomotion  degenerates  into  rootless  restlessness,  and 
they  remain  forever  rolling  stones,  gathering  no  moss,  and 
acquiring  gradually  a  smooth,  hard  surface,  which  adheres 
to  nothing,  and  to  which  nobody  dare  venture  to  adhere. 

But  there  are  others  possessing  in  a  painful  degree  this 
said  quality  of  adhesiveness,  to  whom  the  smallest  change 
is  obnoxious ;  who  like  drinking  out  of  a  particular  cup, 
and  sitting  in  a  particular  chair;  to  whom  even  a  varia- 
tion in  the  position  of  furniture  is  unpleasant.  Of  course, 
this  peculiarity  has  its  bad  side,  and  yet  it  is  not  in  itself 
mean  or  ignoble.  For  is  not  adhesiveness,  faithfulness, 
constancy — call  it  what  you  will — at  the  root  of  all  citi- 
zenship, clanship,  and  family  love  ?  Is  it  not  the  same  feel- 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  103 

ing  which,  granting  they  remain  at  all,  makes  old  friend- 
ships dearer  than  any  new?  Nay,  to  go  to  the  very  sa- 
credest  and  closest  bond,  is  it  not  that  which  makes  an 
old  man  see  to  the  last  in  his  old  wife's  faded  face  the 
beauty  which  perhaps  nobody  ever  saw  except  himself, 
but  which  he  sees  and  delights  in  still,  simply  because  it 
is  familiar  and  his  own  ? 

To  people  who  possess  a  large  share  of  this  rare — shall 
I  say  fatal? — characteristic  of  adhesiveness,  living  in  lodg- 
ings is  about  the  saddest  life  under  the  sun.  Whether 
some  dim  foreboding  of  this  fact  crossed  Elizabeth's  mind 
as  she  stood  at  the  window  watching  for  her  mistresses' 
first  arrival  at  "  home,"  it  is  impossible  to  say.  She  could 
feel,  though  she  was  not  accustomed  to  analyze  her  feel- 
ings. Bu-t  she  looked  dull  and  sad — not  cross ;  even  As- 
cott  could  not  have  accused  her  of  "  savageness." 

And  yet  she  had  been  somewhat  tried.  First,  in  going 
out  what  she  termed  "  marketing,"  she  had  traversed  a 
waste  of  streets,  got  lost  several  times,  and  returned  witli 
light  weight  in  her  butter,  and  sand  in  her  moist  sugar ; 
also  with  the  conviction  that  London  tradesmen  were  the 
greatest  rogues  alive.  Secondly,  a  pottle  of  strawberries, 
which  she  had  bought  with  her  own  money  to  grace  the 
tea-table  with  the  only  fruit  Miss  Leaf  cared  for,  had  turn- 
ed out  a  large  delusion,  big  and  beautiful  at  top,  and  all 
below  small,  crushed,  and  stale.  She  had  thrown  it  indig- 
nantly, pottle  and  all,  into  the  kitchen  fire. 

Thirdly,  she  had  a  war  with  the  landlady,  partly  on  the 
subject  of  their  fire — which,  with  her  Stowbury  notions  on 
the  subject  of  coals,  seemed  wretchedly  mean  and  small 
— and  partly  on  the  question  of  table-cloths  at  tea,  which 
Mrs.  Jones  had  "never  heard  of,"  especially  when  the  use 
of  plate  and  linen  was  included  in  the  rent.  And  the  din- 
giness  of  the  article  produced  at  last  out  of  an  omnium- 
gatherum  sort  of  kitchen  cupboard  made  an  ominous  im- 
pression upon  the  country  girl,  accustomed  to  clean,  tidy 
country  ways — where  the  kitchen  was  kept  as  neat  as  the 
parlor,  and  the  bedrooms  were  not  a  whit  behind  the  sit- 


104  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

ting-rooms  in  comfort  and  orderliness.  Here  it  seemed  as 
if,  supposing  people  could  show  a  few  respectable  living- 
rooms,  they  were  content  to  sleep  any  where,  and  cook 
any  how,  out  of  any  thing,  in  the  midst  of  any  quantity  of 
confusion  and  dirt.  Elizabeth  set  all  this  down  as  "Lon- 
don," and  hated  it  accordingly. 

She  had  tried  to  ease  her  mind  by  arranging  and  rear- 
ranging the  furniture — regular  lodging-house  furniture — 
table,  six  chairs,  horse-hair  sofa,  a  what-not,  and  the  chif- 
fonnier,  with  a  tea-caddy  upon  it,  of  which  the  respective 
keys  had  been  solemnly  presented  to  Miss  Hilary.  But 
still  the  parlor  looked  homeless  and  bare;  and  the  yellow- 
ish paper  on  the  walls,  the  large-patterned,  many-colored 
Kidderminster  on  the  floor,  gave  an  involuntary  sense  of 
discomfort  and  dreariness.  Besides,  No.  15  was  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  street — cheap  lodgings  always  are ;  and 
no  one  who  has  not  lived  in  the  like  lodgings — not  a  house 
— can  imagine  what  it  is  to  inhabit  perpetually  one  room 
where  the  sunshine  just  peeps  in  for  an  hour  a  day,  and 
vanishes  by  eleven  A.M.,  leaving  behind  in  winter  a  chill 
dampness,  and  in  summer  a  heavy,  dusty  atmosphere,  that 
weighs  like  lead  on  the  spirits  in  spite  of  one's  self.  No 
wonder  that,  as  is  statistically  known  and  proved,  cholera 
stalks,  fever  rages,  and  the  registrar's  list  is  always  swelled 
along  the  shady  side  of  a  London  street. 

Elizabeth  felt  this,  though  she  had  not  the  dimmest  idea 
why.  She  stood  watching  the  sunset  light  fade  out  of  the 
topmost  windows  of  the  opposite  house — ghostly  reflection 
of  some  sunset  over  fields  and  trees  far  away ;  and  she  list- 
ened to  the  long,  monotonous  cry  melting  away  round  the 
Crescent,  and  beginning  again  at  the  other  end  of  the  street 
— "  Straw-ber-ries — straw-ber-ries  !"  Also,  with  an  eye  to 
to-morrow's  Sunday  dinner,  she  investigated  the  cart  of 
the  tired  costermonger,  who  crawled  along  beside  his 
equally  tired  donkey,  reiterating  at  times,  in  tones  hoarse 
with  a  day's  bawling,  his  dreary  "  Cauli-flow-er !  cauli-flow- 
er ! — Fine  new  pease,  sixpence  peck  !" 

But,  alas !  the  pease  were  neither  fine  nor  new ;  and  the 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  105 

cauliflowers  were  regular  Saturday  night's  cauliflowers. 
Besides,  Elizabeth  suddenly  doubted  whether  she  had  any 
right,  unordered,  to  buy  these  things,  which,  from  being 
common  garden  necessaries,  had  become  luxuries.  This 
thought,  with  some  others  that  it  occasioned,  her  unwonted 
state  of  idleness,  and  the  dullness  of  every  thing  about  her 
— what  is  so  dull  as  a  "  quiet"  London  street  on  a  summer 
evening  ? — actually  made  Elizabeth  stand,  motionless  and 
meditative,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Then  she  started  to  hear  two  cabs  drive  up  to  the  door ; 
the  "  family"  had  at  length  arrived. 

Ascott  was  there  too.  Two  new  portmanteaus  and  a 
splendid  hat-box  cast  either  ignominy  or  glory  upon  the 
poor  Stowbury  luggage  ;  and — Elizabeth's  sharp  eyes  no- 
ticed— there  was  also  his  trunk,  which  she  had  seen  lying 
detained  for  rent  in  his  Go wer- Street  lodgings.  But  he 
looked  quite  easy  and  comfortable ;  handed  out  his  Aunt 
Johanna,  commanded  the  luggage  about,  and  paid  the  cab- 
men with  such  a  magnificent  air  that  they  touched  their 
hats  to  him,  and  winked  at  one  another,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  That's  a  real  gentleman  !" 

In  which  statement  the  landlady  evidently  coincided,  and 
courtesied  low  when  Miss  Leaf,  introducing  him  as  "  my 
nephew,"  hoped  that  a  room  could  be  found  for  him, 
which  at  last  there  was,  by  his  appropriating  Miss  Leaf's, 
while  she  and  Hilary  took  that  at  the  top  of  the  house. 
But  they  agreed  Ascott  must  have  a  good  airy  room  to 
study  in. 

"  You  know,  my  dear  boy,"  said  his  Aunt  Johanna  to 
him — and  at  her  tender  tone  he  looked  a  little  downcast, 
as  when  he  was  a  small  fellow  and  had  been  forgiven  some- 
thing— "  you  know  you  will  have  to  work  very  hard." 

"All  right,  aunt !  I'm  your  man  for  that !  This  will  be 
a  jolly  room  ;  and  I  can  smoke  up  the  chimney  capitally." 

So  they  came  down  stairs  quite  cheerfully,  and  Ascott 
applied  himself  with  the  best  of  appetites  to  what  he  call- 
ed a  "  hungry"  tea.  True,  the  ham,  which  Elizabeth  had 
to  fetch  from  an  eating-house  some  streets  off,  cost  twc 

E  2 


106  MISTEESS    AND    MAID. 

shillings  a  pound,  and  the  eggs,  which  caused  her  another 
war  below  over  the  relighting  of  a  fire  to  boil  them,  were 
dismissed  by  the  young  gentleman  as  "  horrid  stale."  Still, 
woman-like,  when  there  is  a  man  in  the  question,  his  aunts 
let  him  have  his  way.  It  seemed  as  if  they  had  resolved 
to  try  their  utmost  to  make  the  new  home  to  which  he 
came,  or  rather  was  driven,  a  pleasant  home,  and  to  bind 
him  to  it  with  cords  of  love,  the  only  cords  worth  any  thing, 
though  sometimes — Heaven  knows  why — even  they  fail, 
and  are  snapped  and  thrown  aside  like  straws. 

Whenever  Elizabeth  went  in  and  out  of  the  parlor  she 
always  heard  lively  talk  going  on  among  the  family :  As- 
cott  making  his  jokes,  telling  about  his  college  lite,  and 
planning  his  life  to  come,  as  a  surgeon  in  full  practice,  on 
the  most  extensive  scale.  And  when  she  brought  in  the 
chamber  candles,  she  saw  him  kiss  his  aunts  affectionately, 
and  even  help  his  Aunt  Johanna — who  looked  frightfully 
pale  and  tired,  but  smiling  still — to  her  bedroom  door. 

"You'll  not  sit  up  long,  my  dear?  No  reading  to- 
night ?"  said  she,  anxiously. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  And  I'll  be  up  with  the  lark  to-mor- 
row morning.  I  really  will,  auntie.  I'm  going  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf,  you  know." 

She  smiled  again  at  the  immemorial  joke,  kissed  and 
blessed  him,  and  the  door  shut  upon  her  and  Hilary. 

Ascott  descended  to  the  parlor,  threw  himself  on  the  sofa 
with  an  air  of  great  relief,  and  an  exclamation  of  satisfac- 
tion that  "the  women"  were  all  gone.  He  did  not  perceive 
Elizabeth,  who,  hidden  behind,  was  kneeling  to  arrange 
something  in  the  chiffonnier,  till  she  rose  up  and  proceeded 
to  fasten  the  parlor  shutters. 

"  Hollo  !  are  you  there  ?  Come,  I'll  do  that  when  I  go  to 
bed.  You  may '  slope,'  if  you  like." 

"Eh,  sir?" 

"  Slope,  mizzle,  cut  your  stick ;  don't  you  understand  ? 
Anyhow,  don't  stop  here  bothering  me." 

"  I  don't  mean  to,"  replied  Elizabeth,  gravely  rather  than 
gruffly,  as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  things  as 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  107 

they  were,  and  was  determined  to  be  a  belligerent  party 
no  longer.  Besides,  she  was  older  now — too  old  to  have 
things  forgiven  to  her  that  might  be  overlooked  in  a  child; 
and  she  had  received  a  long  lecture  from  Miss  Hilary  on 
the  necessity  of  showing  respect  to  Mr.  Ascott,  or  Mr.  Leaf, 
as  it  was  now  decided  he  was  to  be  called,  in  his  dignity 
and  responsibility  as  the  only  masculine  head  of  the  family. 

As  he  lay  and  lounged  there,  with  his  eyes  lazily  shut, 
Elizabeth  stood  a  minute  gazing  at  him.  Then,  steadfast 
in  her  new  good  behavior,  she  inquired  tw  if  he  wanted  any 
thing  more  to-night." 

"  Confound  you,  no  !  Yes ;  stop."  And  the  young  man 
took  u  furtive  investigation  of  the  plain,  honest  face,  and 
not  over-graceful,  ultra-provincial  figure  which  still  char- 
acterized his  aunt's  "  South-Sea  Islander." 

"I  say,  Elizabeth, I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me." 
He  spoke  so  civilly,  almost  coaxingly,  that  Elizabeth  turn- 
ed round  surprised.  "  Would  you  just  go  and  ask  the  land- 
lady if  she  has  got  such  a  thing  as  a  latch-key  ?" 

"A  what,  sir?" 

"A  latch-key — a — oh,  she  knows.  Every  London  house 
has  it.  Tell  her  I'll  take  care  of  it,  and  lock  the  front  door 
all  right.  She  needn't  be  afraid  of  thieves." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

Elizabeth  went,  but  shortly  reappeared  with  the  infor- 
mation that  Mrs.  Jones  had  gone  to  bed — in  the  kitchen, 
she  supposed,  as  she  could  not  get  in.  But  she  laid  on  the 
table  the  large  street-door  key. 

u  Perhaps  that's  what  you  wanted,  Mr.  Leaf.  Though  I 
think  you  needn't  be  the  least  afraid  of  robbers,  for  there's 
three  bolts,  and  a  chain  besides." 

"  All  right !"  cried  Ascott,  smothering  down  a  laugh. 
"Thank  you!  That's  for  you,"  throwing  a  half  crown 
across  the  table. 

Elizabeth  took  it  up  demurely,  and  put  it  down  again. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  like  him  enough  to  receive  presents 
from  him ;  perhaps  she  thought,  being  an  honest-minded 
girl,  that  a  young  man  who  could  not  pay  his  rent  had  no 


108  MISTRESS  AND    MAID. 

business  to  be  giving  away  half  crowns ;  or  else  she  herself 
had  not  been,  so  much  as  many  servants  are,  in  the  habit 
of  taking  them.  For  Miss  Hilary  had  put  into  Elizabeth 
some  of  her  own  feeling  as  to  this  habit  of  paying  an  in- 
ferior with  money  for  any  little  civility  or  kindness  which, 
from  an  equal,  would  be  accepted  simply  as  kindness,  and 
only  requited  with  thanks.  Anyhow,  the  coin  remained 
on  the  table,  and  the  door  was  just  shutting  on  Elizabeth, 
when  the  young  gentleman  turned  round  again. 

"  I  say,  since  my  aunts  are  so  horridly  timid  of  robbers 
and  such  like,  you'd  better  not  tell  them  any  thing  about 
the  latch-key." 

Elizabeth  stood  a  minute  perplexed,  and  then  replied 
briefly,  "Miss  Hilary  isn't  a  bit  timid;  and  I  always  tells 
Miss  Hilary  every  thing." 

Nevertheless,  though  she  was  so  ignorant  as  never  to  have 
heard  of  a  latch-key,  she  had  the  wit  to  see  that  all  was  not 
right.  She  even  lay  awake,  in  her  closet  off  Miss  Leaf's 
room,  whence  she  could  hear  the  murmur  of  her  two  mis- 
tresses talking  together  long  after  they  retired — lay  broad 
awake  for  an  hour  or  more,  trying  to  put  things  together 
— the  sad  things  that  she  felt  certain  must  have  happened 
that  day,  and  wondering  what  Mr.  Ascott  could  possibly 
want  with  the  key.  Also,  why  he  had  asked  her  about  it, 
instead  of  telling  his  aunts  at  once ;  and  why  he  had  treat- 
ed her  in  the  matter  with  such  astonishing  civility. 

It  may  be  said  a  servant  had  no  business  to  think  about 
these  things,  to  criticise  her  young  master's  proceedings,  or 
wonder  why  her  mistresses  were  sad:  that  she  had  only  to 
go  about  her  work  like  an  automaton,  and  take  no  interest 
in  any  thing.  I  can  only  answer  to  those  who  like  such 
service,  let  them  have  it;  and  as  they  sow  they  will  as- 
suredly reap. 

But  long  after  Elizabeth,  young  and  hearty,  was  sound- 
ly snoring  on  her  hard,  cramped  bed,  Johanna  and  Hilary 
Leaf,  after  a  brief  mutual  pretense  of  sleep  soon  discovered 
by  both,  lay  consulting  together  over  ways  and  means. 
How  could  the  family  expenses,  beginning  with  twenty- 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  109 

five  shillings  per  week  as  rent,  possibly  be  met  by  the  only 
actual  certain  family  income,  their  £50  per  annum  from  a 
mortgage  ?  For  the  Misses  Leaf  were  of  that  old-fashion- 
ed stamp  which  believed  that  to  reckon  an  income  by  mere 
probabilities  is  either  insanity  or  dishonesty. 

Common  arithmetic  soon  proved  that  this  £50  a  year 
could  not  maintain  them  ;  in  fact,  they  must  soon  draw  on 
the  little  sum — already  dipped  into  to-day  for  Ascott — 
which  had  been  produced  by  the  sale  of  the  Stowbury  fur- 
niture. That  sale,  they  now  found,  had  been  a  mistake ; 
and  they  half  feared  whether  the  whole  change  from  Stow- 
bury to  London  had  not  been  a  mistake — one  of  those  sad 
errors  in  judgment  which  we  all  commit  sometimes,  and 
have  to  abide  by,  and  make  the  best  of,  and  learn  from  if 
we  can.  Happy  those  to  whom  "Dinna  greet  ower  spilt 
milk" — a  proverb  wise  as  cheerful,  which  Hilary,  knowing 
well  who  it  came  from,  repeated  to  Johanna  to  comfort  her 
— teaches  a  second  brave  lesson,  how  to  avoid  spilling  the 
milk  a  second  time. 

And  then  they  consulted  anxiously  about  what  was  to 
be  done  to  earn  money. 

Teaching  presented  itself  as  the  only  resource.  In  those 
days  women's  work  and  women's  rights  had  not  been  dis- 
cussed so  freely  as  at  present.  There  was  a  strong  feeling 
that  the  principal  thing  required  was  our  duties — owed  to 
ourselves,  our  home,  our  family  and  friends.  There  was  a 
deep  conviction — now,  alas  !  slowly  disappearing — that  a 
woman,  single  or  married,  should  never  throw  herself  out 
of  the  safe  circle  of  domestic  life  till  the  last  extremity  of 
necessity;  that  it  is  wiser  to  keep  or  help  to  keep  a  home, 
by  learning  how  to  expend  its  income,  cook  its  dinners, 
make  and  mend  its  clothes,  and,  by  the  law  that  "  preven- 
tion is  better  than  cure,"  studying  all  those  preservative 
means  of  holding  a  family  together — as  women,  and  wom- 
en alone  can — than  to  dash  into  men's  sphere  of  trades  and 
professions,  thereby  in  most  instances  fighting  an  unequal 
battle,  and  coming  out  of  it  maimed,  broken,  unsexed  ; 
turned  into  beings  that  are  neither  men  nor  women,  with 


110  M1STKESS   AND   MAID. 

the  faults  and  corresponding  sufferings  of  both,  and  the 
compensations  of  neither. 

"I  don't  see,"  said  poor  Hilary,  "what  I  can  do  but 
teach.  And  oh,  if  I  could  only  get  daily  pupils,  so  that  I 
might  come  home  of  nights,  and  creep  into  the  fireside, 
and  have  time  to  mend  the  stockings  and  look  after  As- 
cott's  linen,  so  that  he  need  not  be  so  awfully  extrava- 
gant !" 

"  It  is  Ascott  who  ought  to  earn  the  family  income,  arid 
have  his  aunt  to  keep  house  for  him,"  observed  Johanna. 
"  That  was  the  way  in  my  time,  and  I  believe  it  is  the  right 
way.  The  man  ought  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  earn 
the  money;  the  woman  ought  to  stay  at  home  and  wisely 
expend  it." 

"  And  yet  that  way  is  not  always  possible.  We  know 
of  ourselves  instances  where  it  was  not." 

"  Ah  !  yes,"  assented  Johanna,  sighing ;  for  she,  far  more 
than  Hilary,  viewed  the  family  circumstances  in  the  light 
of  its  past  history — a  light  too  sad  almost  to  bear  looking 
at.  "  But  in  ours,  as  in  most  similar  cases,  was  something 
not  right,  something  which  forced  men  and  women  out  of 
their  natural  places.  It  is  a  thing  that  may  be  sometimes 
a  mournful,  inevitable  necessity  ;  but  I  never  can  believe 
it  a  right  thing,  or  a  thing  to  be  voluntarily  imitated,  that 
women  should  go  knocking  about  the  world  like  men — 
and—" 

"  And  I  am  not  meaning  to  do  any  such  thing,"  said  Hi- 
lary, half  laughing.  "I  am  only  going  to  try  every  ration- 
al means  of  earning  a  little  money  to  keep  the  family  go- 
ing till  such  time  as  Ascott  can  decide  on  his  future,  and 
find  a  suitable  opportunity  for  establishing  himself  in  prac- 
tice. In  some  of  the  new  neighborhoods  about  London  he 
says  he  has  a  capital  chance ;  he  will  immediately  set 
about  inquiries.  A  good  idea,  don't  you  think  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Johanna,  briefly.  But  they  did  not  discuss 
this  as  they  had  discussed  their  own  plans ;  and  it  was  no- 
ticeable they  never  even  referred  to,  as  a  portion  of  the 
family  finances,  that  pound  a  week  which,  with  many  re- 


M1STKESS    AND    MAID.  Ill 

grets  that  it  was  so  small,  Ascott  had  insisted  on  paying  to 
his  aunts  as  his  contribution  to  the  expenses  of  the  house- 
hold. 

And  now  the  dawn  was  beginning  to  break,  and  the 
lively  London  sparrows  to  chirp  in  the  chimneys.  So  Hi- 
lary insisted  on  their  talking  no  more,  but  going  to  sleep, 
like  Christians. 

"  Very  well.  Good-night,  my  blessing  !"  said  Johanna, 
softly.  And  perhaps,  indeed,  her  "  blessing,"  with  that 
strange,  bright  courage  of  her  own — years  after,  when  Hi- 
lary looked  back  upon  her  old  self,  how  utterly  mad  this 
courage  seemed! — had  taken  the  weight  of  care  from  the 
elder  and  feebler  heart,  so  that  Johanna  turned  round  and 
soon  slept. 

But  long  a'fter,  till  the  dawn  melted  into  perfect  daylight, 
did  Hilary  lie,  open-eyed,  listening  to  quarter  after  quarter 
of  the  loud  St.  Pancras  clock.  Brave  she  was,  this  little 
wroman,  fully  as  brave  and  cheerful-hearted  as,  for  Johan- 
na's sake,  she  made  herself  out  to  be;  and  now  that  the 
paralyzed  monotony  of  her  Stowbury  life  was  gone,  and 
that  she  was  in  the  midst  of  the  whirl  of  London,  where 
he  used  to  work  and  struggle,  she  felt  doubly  bright  and 
brave.  The  sense  of  resistance,  of  dogged  perseverance,  of 
"  fighting  it  out"  to  the  last,  was  strong  in  her,  stronger 
than  in  most  women,  or  else  it  was  the  reflection  in  her 
own  of  that  nature  which  was  her  ideal  of  every  thing 
great  and  good. 

"  No,"  she  said  to  herself,  after  thinking  over  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  every  difficulty  that  lay  before  them  all  — 
meeting  and  looking  in  the  face  every  wild  beast  in  the 
way,  even  that  terrible  beast  which,  happily,  had  often  ap- 
proached but  never  yet  visited  the  Leaf  family, "  the  wolf 
at  the  door" — "  no,  I  don't  think  I  arn  afraid.  I  think  I 
shall  never  be  afraid  of  any  thing  in  this  world  if  only — 
only—" 

"  If  only  he  loves  me."  That  was  it  which  broke  off  un- 
spoken ;  the  helpless  woman's  cry — the  cruel  craving  for 
the  one  deepest  want  of  a  woman's  life — deeper  than  the 


112  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

same  want  in  man's,  or  in  most  men's,  because  it  is  more 
individual ;  not  "  if  only  I  am  loved,"  but  "  if  only  he  loves 
me."  And  as  Hilary  resolutely  shut  her  eyes,  and  forced 
her  aching  head  into  total  stillness,  sharper  than  ever,  as 
always  was  the  case  when  she  felt  weary,  mentally  or  phys- 
ically, came  her  longing  for  the  hand  to  cling  to,  the  breast 
to  lean  against — the  heart  at  once  strong  and  tender,  which 
even  the  bravest  woman  feels  at  times  she  piteously  needs. 
A  heart  which  can  comfort  and  uphold  her,  with  the 
strength  ngt  of  another  woman  like  herself,  but  of  a  man, 
encouraging  her,  as  perhaps  her  very  weakness  encourages 
him,  to  "  fight  it  out,"  the  sore  battle  of  life,  a  little  longer. 
But  this  support,  in  any  shape,  from  any  man,  the  women 
of  the  Leaf  family  had  never  known. 

The  nearest  approach  to  it  were  those  letters  from  India, 
which  had  become,  Johanna  sometimes  jestingly  said,  a 
family  institution.  For  they  were  family  letters;  there 
was  no  mystery  about  them;  they  were  passed  from  one 
to  the  other,  and  commented  on  in  perfect  freedom — so 
freely,  indeed,  that  Selina  had  never  penetrated  into  the 
secret  of  them  at  all.  But  their  punctuality,  their  faithful 
remembrance  of  the  smallest  things  concerning  the  past, 
their  strong  interest  in  any  thing  and  every  thing  belong- 
ing to  the  present  of  these  his  old  friends,  were  to  the  oth- 
er two  sisters  confirmation  enough  as  to  how  they  might 
believe  in  Robert  Lyon. 

Hilary  did  believe,  and  in  her  perfect  trust  was  perfect 
rest.  Whether  he  ever  married  her  or  not,  she  felt  sure — • 
surer  and  surer  every  day — that  to  her  had  been  sent  that 
best  blessing — the  lot  of  so  few  women — a  thoroughly 
good  man  to  love  her  and  to  love. 

So  with  his  face  in  her  memory,  and  the  sound  of  his 
voice  in  her  ear  as  distinctly  as  if  it  had  been  only  yester- 
day that  he  said  "You  must  trust  me,  Hilary,"  she  whis- 
pered to  herself,  "  I  do,  Robert,  I  do  !"  and  went  to  sleep 
peacefully  as  a  child. 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  113 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WITH  a  sublime  indifference  to  popular  superstition,  or, 
rather,  because  they  did  not  think  of  it  till  all  their  arrange- 
ments were  completed,  the  Misses  Leaf  had  accomplished 
their  grand  hegira  on  a  Friday.  Consequently,  their  first 
day  at  No.  15  was  Sunday. 

Sunday  in  London  always  strikes  a  provincial  person 
considerably.  It  has  two  such  distinct  sides.  First,  the 
eminently  respectable,  decorous,  religious  side,  which  Hila- 
ry and  Selina  observed  when,  about  11  A.M.,  they  joined 
the  stream  of  well-dressed,  well-to-do-looking  people,  soli- 
tary or  in  families,  who  poured  forth  from  handsome  houses 
in  streets  or  squares,  to  form  the  crowded  congregation  of 
St.  Pancras's  Church.  The  opposite  side  Hilary  also  saw 
when  Ascott,  who,  in  spite  of  his  declaration,  had  not  risen 
in  time  for  breakfast,  penitently  coaxed  his  "  pretty  aunt" 
to  let  him  take  her  to  the  afternoon  service  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey.  They  wended  their  way  through  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  Oxford  Street,  Regent  Street,  and  across  the 
park,  finding  shops  open  or  half  open,  vehicles  plying,  and 
people  streaming  down  each  side  of  the  streets. 

Hilary  did  not  quite  like  it,  and  yet  her  heart  was  tender 
over  the  poor,  hard-worked-looking  Cockneys,  who  seemed 
so  excessively  to  enjoy  their  Sunday  stroll,  their  Sunday 
mouthful  of  fresh  air;  or  the  small  Sunday  treat  their  sick- 
ly, under-sized  children  had  in  lying  on  the  grass,  and  feed- 
ing the  ducks  in  St.  James's  Park. 

She  tried  to  talk  the  matter  out  with  Ascott,  but,  though 
he  listened  politely  for  a  minute  or  two,  he  evidently  took 
no  interest  in  such  things.  Nor  did  he  even  in  the  grand 
old  Abbey,  with  its  tree-like,  arched  avenues  of  immemori- 
al stone,  its  painted  windows,  through  which  the  colored 
sunshine  made  a  sort  of  heavenly  mist  of  light,  and  its  in- 
numerable graves  of  generations  below.  Hilary  woke  from 


114  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

her  trance  of  solemn  delight  to  find  her  nephew  amusing 
himself  with  staring  at  the  people  about  him,  making  sotto 
voce  quizzical  remarks  upon  them  in  the  intervals  of  the 
service,  and,  finally,  the  instant  it  was  ended,  starting  up  in 
extreme  satisfaction,  evidently  feeling  that  he  had  done  his 
duty,  and  that  it  had  been,  to  use  his  own  phrase, "  a  con- 
founded bore." 

Yet  he  meant  to  be  kind  to  his  pretty  aunt — told  her  he 
liked  to  walk  with  her  because  she  was  so  pretty,  praised 
her  dress,  so  neat  and  tasteful,  though  a  little  old-fashioned. 
But  he  would  soon  alter  that,  he  said ;  he  would  dress  all 
his  aunts  in  silk  and  satin,  and  give  them  a  carriage  to  ride 
in ;  there  should  be  no  end  to  their  honor  and  prosperity. 
Nay,  coming  home,  he  took  her  a  long  way  round — or  she 
thought  so,  being  tired — to  show  her  the  sort  of  house  lie 
meant  to  have.  Very  grand  it  seemed  to  her  Stowbury 
eyes,  with  pillars  and  a  flight  of  steps  up  to  the  door — 
more  fit,  she  ventured  to  suggest,  for  a  retired  merchant 
than  a  struggling  young  surgeon. 

"Oh,  but. we  dare  not  show  the  struggle,  or  nobody 
would  ever  trust  us,"  said  Ascott,  with  a  knowing  look. 
"  Bless  you,  many  a  young  fellow  sets  up  a  house,  and  even 
a  carriage,  on  tick,  and  drives  and  drives  about  till  he 
drives  himself  into  a  practice.  The  world's  all  a  make-be- 
lieve, and  you  must  meet  humbug  with  humbug.  That's 
the  way,  I  assure  you,  Aunt  Hilary." 

Aunt  Hilary  fixed  her  honest  eyes  on  the  lad's  face — the 
lad,  so  little  younger  than  herself,  and  yet  whc  at  times, 
when  he  let  out  sayings  such  as  this,  seemed  so  awfully, 
so  pitifully  old;  and  she  felt  thankful  that,  at  all  risks  and 
costs,  they  had  come  to  London  to  be  beside  him,  to  help 
him,  to  save  him,  if  he  needed  saving,  as  women  only  can. 
For,  after  all,  he  was  but  a  boy.  And  though,  as  he  walk- 
ed by  her  side,  stalwart  and  manly,  the  thought  smote  her 
painfully  that  many  a  young  fellow  of  his  age  was  the  stay 
and  bread-winner  of  some  widowed  mother  or  sister,  nay, 
even  of  wife  and  child,  still  she  repeated,  cheerfully, "  What 
can  one  expect  from  him  ?  He  is  only  a  boy." 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  115 

God  help  the  women  who,  for  those  belonging  to  them 
—husbands,  fathers,  brothers,  lovers,  sons  —  have  ever  so 
tenderly  to  apologize. 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  St.Pancras's  Church,  Ascott 
said,  suddenly, "  I  think  you'll  know  your  way  now,  Aunt 
Hilary." 

"  Certainly.      Why  ?" 

"  Because — you  wouldn't  be  vexed  if  I  left  you?  I  have 
an  engagement  —  some  fellows  that  I  dine  with,  out  at 
Hampstead,  or  Richmond,  or  Blackwall,  every  Sunday. 
Nothing  wicked,  I  assure  you.  And  you  know  it's  capital 
for  one's  health  to  get  a  Sunday  in  fresh  air." 

"  Yes ;  but  Aunt  Johanna  will  be  sorry  to  miss  you." 

"  Will  she  ?  Oh,  you'll  smooth  her  down.  Stay  !  Tell 
her  I'll  be  back  to  tea." 

"  We  shall  be  having  tea  directly." 

"I  declare  I  had  quite  forgotten.  Aunt  Hilary,  you 
must  change  your  hours.  They  don't  suit  me  at  all.  No 
men  can  ever  stand  early  dinners.  By,  by  !  You  are  the 
very  prettiest  auntie.  Be  sure  you  get  home  safe.  Hollo, 
there  !  That's  my  omnibus." 

He  jumped  on  the  top  of  it  and  was  off. 

Aunt  Hilary  stood,  quite  confounded,  and  with  one  of 
those  strange  sinkings  of  the  heart  which  had  come  over 
her  several  times  this  day.  It  was  not  that  Ascott  show- 
ed any  unkindness — that  there  was  any  actual  badness  in 
his  bright  and  handsome  young  face.  Still  there  was  a 
want  there — want  of  earnestness,  steadfastness,  truthful- 
ness, a  something  more  discoverable  as  the  lack  of  some- 
thing else  than  as  aught  in  itself  tangibly  and  perceptibly 
wrong.  It  made  her  sad  ;  it  caused  her  to  look  forward  to 
his  future  with  an  anxious  heart.  It  was  so  different  from 
the  kind  of  anxiety,  and  yet  settled  repose,  with  which  she 
thought  of  the  only  other  man  in  whose  future  she  felt  the 
smallest  interest.  Of  Robert  Lyon  she  was  certain  that 
whatever  misfortune  visited  him  he  would  bear  it  in  the 
best  way  it  could  be  borne ;  whatever  temptation  assailed 
him  he  would  fight  against  it,  as  a  brave  and  good  Chris- 
tian should  fiorht.  But  Ascott? 


116  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

Ascott's  fife  was  yet  an  unanswered  query.  She  could 
but  leave  it  in  Omnipotent  hands. 

So  she  found  her  way  home,  asking  it  once  or  twice  of 
civil  policemen,  and  going  a  little  distance  round — dare  I 
make  this  romantic  confession  about  so  sensible  and  prac- 
tical a  little  woman  ? — that  she  might  walk  once  up  Bur- 
ton Street  and  down  again.  But  nobody  knew  the  fact, 
and  it  did  nobody  any  harm. 

Meantime  at  No.  15  the  afternoon  had  passed  heavily 
enough.  Miss  Selina  had  gone  to  lie  down — she  always 
did  of  Sundays,  and  Elizabeth,  after  making  her  comforta- 
ble by  the  little  attentions  the  lady  always  required, had  de- 
scended to  the  dreary  wash-house,  which  had  been  appro- 
priated to  herself  under  the  name  of  a  "  private  kitchen,'* 
in  the  which,  after  all  the  cleanings  and  improvements  she 
could  achieve,  she  sat  like  Marius  among  the  ruins  of  Car- 
thage, and  sighed  for  the  tidy  bright  house-place  at  Stow- 
bury.  Already,  from  her  brief  experience,  she  had  decided 
that  London  people  were  horrid  shams,  because  they  did 
not  in  the  least  care  to  have  their  kitchens  comfortable. 
She  wondered  how  she  should  ever  exist  in  this  one,  and 
might  have  carried  her  sad  and  sullen  face  up  stairs  if  Miss 
Leaf  had  not  come  down  stairs,  and  glancing  about,  with 
that  ever-gentle  smile  of  hers,  said  kindly,  "  Well,  it  is  not 
very  pleasant,  but  you  have  made  the  best  of  it,  Elizabeth. 
We  must  all  put  up  with  something,  you  know.  Now,  as 
my  eyes  are  not  very  good  to-day,  suppose  you  come  up 
and  read  me  a  chapter."  • 

So,  in  the  quiet  parlor,  the  maid  sat  down  opposite  her 
mistress,  and  read  aloud  out  of  that  Book  which  says  dis- 
tinctly, 

"Servants,  be  obedient  to  them,  that  are  your  masters  ac- 
cording to  the  flesh,  with  fear  and  trembling,  in  singleness 
of  heart,  as  unto  Christ:  knowing  that  whatsoever  good 
thing  any  man  doeth,  the  same  shall  he  receive  of  the  Lord, 
whether  he  be  bond  or  free.'1'' 

And  yet  says  immediately  after, 

"Ye  masters,  do  the  same  things  unto  them,  forbearing 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  117 

threatening :  knowing  that  your  Master  also  is  in  heaven  / 
neither  is  there  respect  of  persons  with  him" 

And  I  think  that  Master  whom  Paul  served,  not  in 
preaching  only,  but  also  in  practice,  when  he  sent  back  the 
slave  Onesimus  to  Philemon,  praying  that  he  might  be  re- 
ceived, "  not  now  as  a  servant,  but  above  a  servant,  a  broth- 
er beloved,"  that  divine  Master  must  have  looked  tenderly 
upon  these  two  women — both  women,  though  of  such  dif- 
ferent age  and  position,  and  taught  them  through  his  Spirit 
in  his  Word,  as  only  he  can  teach. 

The  reading  was  disturbed  by  a  carriage  driving  up  to 
the  door,  and  a  knock,  a  tremulously  grand  and  forcible 
footman's  knock,  which  made  Miss  Leaf  start  in  her  easy 
chair, 

"  But  it  can't  be  visitors  to  us.  We  know  nobody.  Sit 
still,  Elizabeth." 

It  was  a  visitor,  however,  though  by  what  ingenuity  he 
found  them  out  remained,  when  they  came  to  think  of  it,  a 
great  puzzle.  A  card  was  sent  in  by  the  dirty  servant  of 
Mrs.  Jones,  speedily  followed  by  a  stout,  bald-headed, 
round-faced  man — I  suppose  I  ought  to  write  "gentleman" 
— in  whom,  though  she  had  not  seen  him  for  years,  Miss 
Leaf  found  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  the  grocer's  'pren- 
tice-boy, now  Mr.  Peter  Ascott,  of  Russell  Square. 

She  rose  to  receive  him:  there  was  always  a  stateliness 
in  Miss  Leaf's  reception  of  strangers ;  a  slight  formality 
belonging  to  her  own  past  generation,  and  to  the  time 
when  the  Leafs  were  a  "county  family."  Perhaps  this 
extra  dignity,  graceful  as  it  was,  overpowered  the  little 
man,  or  else,  being  a  bachelor,  he  was  unaccustomed  to  la- 
dies' society ;  but  he  grew  red  in  the  face,  twiddled  his  hat, 
and  then  cast  a  sharp  inquisitive  glance  toward  her. 

"  Miss  Leaf,  I  presume,  ma'am.     The  eldest  ?" 

"  I  am  the  eldest  Miss  Leaf,  and  very  glad  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  thanking  you  for  your  long  kindness  to  my 
nephew.  Elizabeth,  give  Mr.  Ascott  a  chair." 

While  doing  so,  and  before  her  disappearance,  Elizabeth 
took  a  rapid  observation  of  the  visitor,  whose  name  and 


118  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

history  were  perfectly  familiar  to  her.  Most  small  towns 
have  their  hero,  and  Stowbury's  was  Peter  Ascott,  the  gro- 
cer's boy,  the  little  fellow  who  had  gone  up  to  London  to 
seek  his  fortune,  and  had,  strange  to  say,  found  it.  Wheth- 
er by  industry  or  luck — except  that  industry  is  luck,  and 
luck  is  only  another  word  for  industry — he  had  gradually 
risen  to  be  a  large  city  merchant,  a  drysalter  I  conclude  it 
would  be  called,  with  a  handsome  house,  carriage,  etc.  He 
had  never  revisited  his  native  place,  which  indeed  could 
not  be  expected  of  him,  as  he  had  no  relations,  but  when 
asked,  as  was  not  seldom,  of  course  he  subscribed  liberally 
to  its  charities. 

Altogether  he  was  a  decided  hero  in  the  place ;  and 
though  people  really  knew  very  little  about  him,  the  less 
they  knew  the  more  they  gossiped,  holding  him  up  to  the  ris- 
ing generation  as  a  modern  Dick  Whittington,  and  reveren- 
cing him  extremely  as  one  who  had  shed  glory  on  his  native 
town.  Even  Elizabeth  had  conceived  a  great  idea  of  Mr. 
Ascott.  When  she  saw  this  little  fat  man,  coarse  and  com- 
mon-looking in  spite  of  his  good  clothes  and  diamond  ring, 
and  in  manner  a  curious  mixture  of  pomposity  and  awk- 
wardness, she  laughed  to  herself,  thinking  what  a  very  un- 
interesting individual  it  was  about  whom  Stowbury  had 
told  so  many  interesting  stories. 

However,  she  went  up  to  inform  Miss  Selina,  and  pre- 
vent her  making  her  appearance  before  him  in  the  usual 
Sunday  dishabille  in  which  she  indulged  when  no  visitors 
were  expected. 

After  the  first  awkwardness,  Mi*.  Peter  Ascott  became 
quite  at  his  ease  with  Miss  Leaf.  He  began  to  talk — not 
of  Stowbury,  that  was  tacitly  ignored  by  both — but  of 
London,  and  then  of  "  my  house  in  Russell  Square,"  "  my 
carriage,"  "  my  servants" — the  inconvenience  of  keeping 
coachmen  who  would  drink,  and  footmen  who  would  not 
clean  the  plate  properly  ;  ending  by  what  was  a  favorite 
moral  axiom  of  his,  that  "  wealth  and  position  are  heavy 
responsibilities." 

He  himself  seemed,  however,  not  to  have  been   quite 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  119 

overwhelmed  by  them ;  he  was  fat  and  flourishing — with 
an  acuteness  and  power  in  the  upper  half  of  his  face  which 
accounted  for  his  having  attained  his  present  position.  The 
lower  half — somehow  Miss  Leaf  did  not  like  it,  she  hardly 
knew  why,  though  a  physiognomist  might  have  known. 
For  Peter  Ascott  had  the  underhanging,  obstinate,  sensual 
lip,  the  large  throat — bull-necked,  as  it  has  been  called — 
indications  of  that  essentially  animal  nature  which  maybe 
born  with  the  nobleman  as  with  the  clown ;  which  no  edu- 
cation can  refine,  and  no  talent,  though  it  may  coexist  with 
it,  can  ever  entirely  remove.  He  reminded  one,  perforce, 
of  the  rough  old  proverb,  "  You  can't  make  a  silk  purse  out 
of  a  sow's  ear." 

Still,  Mr.  Ascott  was  not  a  bad  man,  though  something 
deeper  than  his  glorious  indifference  to  grammar,  and  his 
dropped  h's—  which,  to  steal  some  one's  joke,  might  have 
been  swept  up  in  bushels  from  Miss  Leaf's  parlor — made 
it  impossible  for  him  ever  to  be,  by  any  culture  whatever, 
a  gentleman. 

They  talked  of  Ascott,  as  being  the  most  convenient 
mutual  subject ;  and  Miss  Leaf  expressed  the  gratitude 
which  her  nephew  felt,  and  she  earnestly  hoped  would  ever 
show,  toward  his  kind  godfather. 

Mr.  Ascott  looked  pleased. 

"  Urn — yes,  Ascott's  not  a  bad  fellow — believe  he  means 
well ;  but  weak,  ma'am,  I'm  afraid  he's  weak.  Knows 
nothing  of  business — has  no  business  habits  whatever. 
However,  we  must  make  the  best  of  him;  I  don't  repent 
any  thing  I've  done  for  him." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  gravely. 

And  then  there  ensued  an  uncomfortable  pause,  which 
was  happily  broken  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  the 
sweeping  in  of  a  large,  goodly  figure. 

"My  sister, Mr.  Ascott ;  my  sister  Selina." 

The  little  stout  man  actually  started,  and,  as  he  bowed, 
blushed  up  to  the  eyes. 

Miss  Selina  was,  as  I  have  stated,  the  beauty  of  the  fam- 
ily, and  had  once  been  an  acknowledged  Stowbury  belle. 


120  MISTKESS    AND   MAID. 

Even  now,  though  nigh  upon  forty,  when  carefully  and  be- 
comingly dressed,  her  tall  figure,  and  her  well-featured, 
fair-complexioned,  unwrinkled  face  made  her  still  appear  a 
very  personable  woman.  At  any  rate,  she  was  not  faded 
enough,  nor  the  city  magnate's  heart  cold  enough,  to  pre- 
vent a  sudden  revival  of  the  vision  which — in  what  now 
seemed  an  almost  antediluvian  stage  of  existence — had 
dazzled,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  the  eye.s  of  the  grocer's  lad. 
If  there  is  one  pure  spot  in  a  man's  heart — even  the  very 
worldliest  of  men — it  is  usually  his  boyish  first  love. 

So  Peter  Ascott  looked  hard  at  Miss  Selina,  then  into  his 
hat,  then,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  out  of  the  window, 
where  he  caught  sight  of  his  carriage  and  horses.  These 
revived  his  spirits,  and  made  him  recognize  what  he  was — 
Mr.  Ascott  of  Russell  Square,  addressing  himself  in  the 
character  of  a  benevolent  patron  to  the  fallen  Leaf  family. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  miss.  Long  time  since  we  met — 
neither  of  us  so  young  as  we  have  been — but  you  do  wear 
well,  I  must  say." 

Miss  Selina  drew  back;  she  was  within  an  inch  of  being 
highly  offended,  when  she  too  happened  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  carriage  and  horses.  So  she  sat  down  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  him ;  and  when  she  liked,  nobody 
could  be  more  polite  and  agreeable  than  Miss  Selina. 

So  it  happened  that  the  handsome  equipage  crawled 
round  and  round  the  Crescent,  or  stood  pawing  the  silent 
Sunday  street  before  No.  15  for  very  nearly  an  hour,  even 
till  Hilary  came  home. 

It  was  vexatious  to  have  to  make  excuses  for  Ascott, 
particularly  as  his  godfather  said  with  a  laugh  that  "  young 
fellows  would  be  young  fellows ;"  they  needn't  expect  to 
see  the  lad  till  midnight,  or  till  to-morrow  morning. 

But  though  in  this  and  other  things  he  somewhat  an- 

O  £5 

noyed  the  ladies  from  Stowbury,  no  one  could  say  he  was 
not  civil  to  them — exceedingly  civil.  He  offered  them  Bo- 
tanical Garden  tickets  —  Zoological  Garden  tickets  ;  he 
even,  after  some  meditation  and  knitting  of  his  shaggy 
gray  eyebrows,  bolted  out  with  an  invitation  for  the 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  121 

whole  family  to  dinner  at  Russell  Square  the  following 
Sunday. 

"I  always  give  my  dinners  on  Sunday.  I've  no  time 
any  other  day,"  said  he,  when  Miss  Leaf  gently  hesitated. 
"Come  or  not, just  as  you  like." 

Miss  Selina,  to  whom  the  remark  was  chiefly  addressed, 
bowed  the  most  gracious  acceptance. 

The  visitor  took  very  little  notice  of  Miss  Hilary.  Prob- 
ably, if  asked,  he  would  have  described  her  as  a  small, 
shabbily -dressed  person,  looking  very  like  a  governess. 
Indeed  the  fact  of  her  governess-ship  seemed  suddenly  to 
recur  to  him ;  he  asked  her  if  she  meant  to  set  up  another 
school,  and  being  informed  thnt  she-  rather  wished  private 
pupils,  promised  largely  that  she  should  have  the  full  ben- 
efit of  his  "patronage"  among  his  friends.  Then  he  de- 
parted, leaving  a  message  for  Ascott  to  call  next  day,  as 
he  wished  to  speak  to  him. 

"  For  you  must  be  aware,  Miss  Leaf,  that  though  your 
nephew's  allowance  is  nothing — a  mere  drop  in  the  bucket 
out  of  my  large  income — still,  when  it  comes  year  after 
year,  and  no  chance  of  his  shifting  for  himself,  the  most 
benevolent  man  in  the  world  feels  inclined  to  stop  the  sup- 
plies. Not  that  I  shall  do  that — at  least  not  immediately : 
he  is  a  fine  young  fellow,  whom  I'm  rather  proud  to  have 
helped  a  step  up  the  ladder,  and  I've  a  great  respect" — 
here  he  bowed  to  Miss  Selina — "  a  great  respect  for  your 
family.  Still  there  must  come  a  time  when  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  shut  up  my  purse-strings.  You  understand, 
ma'am." 

"  I  do,"  Miss  Leaf  answered,  trying  to  speak  with  digni- 
ty, and  yet  patience,  for  she  saw  Hilary's  face  beginning  to 
flame.  "  And  I  trust,  Mr.  Ascott,  my  nephew  will  soon 
cease  to  be  an  expense  to  you.  It  was  your  own  volun- 
tary kindness  that  brought  it  upon  yourself,  and  I  hope 
you  have  not  found,  never  will  find,  either  him  or  us  un- 
grateful." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  ma'am,  I  don't  look  for  gratitude.  Still, 
if  Ascott  does  work  his  way  into  a  good  position— and 

F 


122  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

he'll  be  the  first  of  his  family  that  ever  did,  I  reckon — but 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Leaf.  Ladies,  I'll  bid  you  good 
day.  Will  your  servant  call  my  carriage  ?" 

The  instant  he  was  gone  Hilary  burst  forth — 

"  If  I  were  Ascott,  I'd  rather  starve  in  a  garret,  break 
stones  in  the  high-road,  or  buy  a  broom  and  sweep  a  cross- 
'ing,  than  I'd  be  dependent  on  this  man,  this  pompous, 
purse-proud,  illiterate  fool !" 

"No,  not  a  fool,"  reproved  Johanna.  "An  acute,  clear- 
headed, nor,  I  think,  bad-hearted  man.  Coarse  and  com- 
mon, certainly ;  but  if  we  were  to  hate  every  thing  coarse 
or  common,  we  should  find  plenty  to  hate.  Besides,  though 
he  does  his  kindness  in  'an  unpleasant  way,  think  how  very, 
very  kind  he  has  been  to  Ascott." 

"Johanna,!  think  you  would  find  a  good  word  for  the 
de'il  himself,  as  we  used  to  say,"  cried  Hilary,  laughing. 
"  Weil,  Selina,  and  what  is  your  opinion  of  our  stout 
friend  ?" 

Miss  Selina,  bridling  a  little,  declared  that  she  did  not 
see  so  much  to  complain  of  in  Mr.  Ascott.  He  was  not  ed- 
ucated certainly,  but  he  was  a  most  respectable  person. 
And  his  calling  upon  them  so  soon  was  most  civil  and  at- 
tentive. She  thought,  considering  his  present  position, 
they  should  forget — indeed,  as  Christians  they  were  bound 
to  forget — that  he  was  once  their  grocer's  boy,  and  go  to 
dine  with  him  next  Sunday. 

"For  my  part,  I  shall  go,  though  it  is  Sunday.  I  con- 
sider it  quite  a  religious  duty — my  duty  toward  my  neigh- 
bor." 

"  Which  is  to  love  him  as  yourself.  I  am  sure,  Selina,  I 
have  no  objection.  It  would  be  a  grand  romantic  wind- 
up  to  the  story  which  Stowbury  used  to  tell — of  how  the 
'prentice-boy  stared  his  eyes  out  at  the  beautiful  young 
lady ;  and  you  would  get  the  advantage  of '  my  house  in 
Russell  Square,' '  my  carriage  and  servants,'  and  be  able  to 
elevate  your  whole  family.  Do,  now !  set  your  cap  at 
Peter  Ascott." 

Here  Hilary,  breaking  out  into  one  of  her  childish  fits 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  123 

of  irrepressible  laughter,  was  startled  to  see  Selina's  face 
in  one  blaze  of  indignation. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  silly  chit,  and  don't  chatter 
about  things  you  don't  understand." 

And  she  swept  majestically  from  the  room. 

"What  have  I  done?  Why,  she  is  really  vexed.  If  I 
had  thought  she  would  have  taken  it  in  earnest  I  would 
never  have  said  a  word.  Who  would  have  thought  it !" 

But  Miss  Selina's  fits  of  annoyance  were  so  common  that 
the  sisters  rarely  troubled  themselves  long  on  the  matter. 
And  when  at  tea-time  she  came  down  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
they  met  her  half  way,  as  they  always  did,  thankful  for 
these  brief  calms  in  the  family  atmosphere,  which  never 
lasted  too  long. 

It  wTas  a  somewhat  heavy  evening.  They  waited  supper 
till  after  ten,  and  yet  Ascott  did  not  appear.  Miss  Leaf 
read  the  chapter  as  usual ;  and  Elizabeth  was  sent  to  bed, 
but  still  no  sign  of  the  absentee. 

"I  will  sit  up  for  him.  He  can  not  be  many  minutes 
now,"  said  his  Aunt  Hilary,  and  settled  herself  in  the  soli- 
tary parlor,  which  one  candle  and  no  fire  made  as  cheerless 
as  could  possibly  be. 

There  she  waited  till  midnight  before  the  young  man 
came  in.  Perhaps  he  was  struck  with  compunction  by  her 
weary  white  face — by  her  silent  lighting  of  his  candle,  for 
he  made  her  a  thousand  apologies. 

"  'Pon  my  honor,  Aunt  Hilary,  I'll  never  keep  you  up  so 
late  again.  Poor  dear  auntie,  how  tired  she  looks!"  and 
he  kissed  her  affectionately.  "  But  if  you  were  a  young 
fellow,  and  got  among  other  young  fellows,  and  they  over- 
persuaded  you." 

"  You  should  learn  to  say  No." 

"  Ah  !" — with  a  sigh — "  so  I  ought,  if  I  were  as  good  as 
my  Aunt  Hilary." 


124:  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MONTHS  slipped  by;  the  trees  in  Burton  Crescent  had 
long  been  all  bare ;  the  summer  cries  of  itinerant  vegetable 
dealers  and  flower -sellers  had  vanished  out  of  the  quiet 
street.  The  three  sisters  almost  missed  them,  sitting  in 
that  one  dull  parlor  from  morning  till  night,  in  the  intense 
solitude  of  people  who,  having  neither  heart  nor  money  to 
spend  in  gayeties,  live  forlorn  in  London  lodgings,  and 
knowing  nobody,  have  nobody  to  visit,  nobody  to  ^  isit 
them — 

Except  Mr.  Ascott,  who  still  called,  and  occasionally 
staid  to  tea.  The  hospitalities,  however,  were  all  on  their 
side.  The  first  entertainment — to  which  Selina  insisted 
upon  going,  and  Johanna  thought  Hilary  and  Ascott  had 
better  go  too — was  splendid  enough,  but  they  were  the 
only  ladies  present ;  and  though  Mr.  Ascott  did  the  honors 
with  great  magnificence,  putting  Miss  Selina  at  the  head 
of  his  table,  where  she  looked  exceedingly  well,  still  the 
sister  agreed  it  was  better  that  all  further  invitations  to 
Russell  Square  should  be  declined.  Miss  Selina  herself  said 
it  would  be  more  dignified  and  decorous. 

Other  visitors  they  had  none.  Ascott  never  offered  to 
bring  any  of  his  friends,  and  gradually  they  saw  very  lit- 
tle of  him.  He  was  frequently  out,  especially  at  meal- 
times, so  that  his  aunts  gave  up  the  struggle  to  make  the 
humble  dinners  better  and  more  to  his  liking,  and  would 
even  have  hesitated  to  take  the  money  which  he  was  un- 
derstood to  pay  for  his  board,  had  he  offered  it,  which  he 
did  not.  Yet  still,  whenever  he  did  happen  to  remain  with 
them  a  day  or  an  evening,  he  was  good  and  affectionate, 
and  always  entertained  them  with  descriptions  of  all  he 
would  do  as  soon  as  he  got  into  practice. 

Meantime  they  kept  house  as  economically  as  possible 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  125 

upon  the  little  ready  money  they  had,  hoping  that  more 
would  come  in — that  Hilary  would  get  pupils. 

But  Hilary  never  did.  To  any  body  who  knows  London 
this  will  not  be  surprising.  The  wonder  was  in  the  Misses 
Leaf  being  so  simple  as  to  imagine  that  a  young  country 
lady,  settling  herself  in  lodgings  in  an  obscure  metropoli- 
tan street,  without  friends  or  introduction,  could  ever  ex- 
pect such  a  thing.  Nothing  but  her  own  daring,  and  the 
irrepressible  well-spring  of  hope  that  was  in  her  healthy 
youth,  could  have  sustained  her  in  what,  ten  years  after, 
would  have  appeared  to  her,  as  it  certainly  was,  downright 
insanity.  But  Heaven  takes  care  of  the  mad,  the  righteous- 
ly and  unselfishly  mad,  and  Heaven  took  care  of  poor  Hi- 
lary. 

The  hundred  labors  she  went  through — weariness  of 
body  and  travail  of  soul,  the  risks  she  ran,  the  pitfalls  she 
escaped — what  need  to  record  here  ?  Many  have  recorded 
the  like,  many  more  have  known  them,  and  acknowledged 
that  when  such  histories  are  reproduced  in  books  how  ut- 
terly imagination  fades  before  reality.  Hilary  never  look- 
ed back  upon  that  time  herself  without  a  shuddering  won- 
der how  she  could  have  dared  all  and  gone  through  all. 
Possibly  she  never  could  but  for  the  sweet  old  face,  grow- 
ing older  yet  sweeter  every  day,  which  smiled  upon  her 
the  minute  she  opened  the  door  of  that  dull  parlor,  and 
made  even  No.  15  look  like  home. 

When  she  told,  sometimes  gayly,  sometimes  with  burn- 
ing, bursting  tears,  the  tale  of  her  day's  efforts  and  day's 
failures,  it  was  always  comfort  to  feel  Johanna's  hand  on 
her  hair,  Johanna's  voice  whispering  over  her,  "  Never 
mind,  my  child,  all  will  come  right  in  time.  All  happens 
for  good." 

And  the  face,  withered  and  worn,  yet  calm  as  a  sum 
mer  sea,  full  of  the  "peace  which  passeth  all  understand- 
ing," was  a  living  comment  on  the  truth  of  these  words. 

Another  comfort  Hilary  had — Elizabeth.  During  her 
long  days  of  absence,  wandering  from  one  end  of  London 
to  the  other,  after  advertisements  that  she  had  answered, 


126  M^STKESS 


AND    MAID. 


or  governess  institutions  that  she  had  applied  to,  the  do- 
mestic affairs  fell  almost  entirely  into  the  hands  of  Eliza- 
beth. It  was  she  who  bought  in,  and  kept  a  jealous  eye, 
not  unneeded,  over  provisions ;  she  who  cooked  and  wait- 
ed, and  sometimes  even  put  a  helping  hand,  coarse,  but 
willing,  into  the  family  sewing  and  mending.  This  had 
now  become  so  vital  a  necessity  that  it  was  fortunate  Miss 
Leaf  had  no  other  occupation,  and  Miss  Selina  no  other  en- 
tertainment, than  stitch,  stitch,  stitch,  at  the  ever-begin- 
ning, never-ending  wrardrobe  wants  which  assail  decent 
poverty  every  where,  especially  in  London. 

"  Clothes  seem  to  wear  out  frightfully  fast,"  said  Hilary 
one  day,  when  she  was  putting  on  her  oldest  gown,  to  suit 
a  damp,  foggy  day,  when  the  streets  were  slippery  with 
the  mud  of  settled  rain. 

"  I  saw  such  beautiful  merino  dresses  in  a  shop  in  South- 
ampton Row,"  insinuated  Elizabeth ;  but  her  mistress  shook 
her  head. 

"  No,  no ;  my  old  black  silk  will  do  capitally,  and  I  can 
easily  put  on  two  shawls.  Nobody  knows  me;  and  peo- 
ple may  wear  what  they  like  in  London.  Don't  look  so 
grave,  Elizabeth.  What  does  it  signify  if  I  can  but  keep 
myself  warm?  Now  run  away." 

Elizabeth  obeyed,  but  shortly  reappeared  with  a  bundle 
— a  large,  old-fashioned  thick  shawl. 

"Mother  gave  it  me;  her  mistress  gave  it  her;  but 
we've  never  worn  it,  and  never  shall.  If  only  you  didn't 
mind  putting  it  on,  just  this  once — this  terrible  soaking 
day  !" 

The  scarlet  face,  the  entreating  tones — there  was  no  re- 
sisting them.  One  natural  pang  Hilary  felt — that  in  her 
sharp  poverty  she  had  fallen  so  low  as  to  be  indebted  to 
her  servant,  and  then  she  too  blushed,  less  for  shame  at  ac- 
cepting the  kindness  than  for  her  own  pride  that  could  not 
at  once  receive  it  as  such. 

"  Thank  you,  Elizabeth,"  she  said,  gravely  and  gently, 
and  let  herself  be  wrapped  in  the  thick  shawl.  Its  gor- 
geous reds  and  yellows  would,  she  knew,  make  her  notice- 


MISTRESS    AND    MAy>.  127 

able,  even, though  "people  might  wear  any  thing  in  Lon- 
don." Still,  she  put  it  on  with  a  good  grace;  and  all 
through  her  peregrinations  that  day  it  warmed,  not  only 
her  shoulders,  but  her  heart. 

Coming  home,  she  paused  wistfully  before  a  glittering 
shoe-shop — her  poor  little  feet  were  so  soaked  and  cold. 
Could  she  possibly  afford  a  new  pair  of  boots  ?  It  was  not 
a  matter  of  vanity — she  had  passed  that.  She  did  not  care 
now  how  ugly  and  shabby  looked  the  "  wee  feet"  that  had 
once  been  praised ;  but  she  felt  it  might  be  a  matter  of 
health  and  prudence.  Suppose  she  caught  cold — fell  ill — 
died  —  died,  leaving  Johanna  to  struggle  alone — died  be- 
fore Robert  Lyon  came  home.  Both  thoughts  struck  sharp. 
She  was  too  young  still,  or  had  not  suffered  enough,  calm- 
ly to  think  of  death  and  dying. 

"It  will  do  no  harm  to  inquire  the  price.  I  might  stop 
it  out  in  omnibuses." 

For  this  was  the  way  every  new  article  of  dress  had  to 
be  procured — "  stopping  it  out"  of  something  else. 

After  trying  several  pairs — with  a  fierce,  bitter  blush  at 
a  small  hole  which  the  day's  walking  had  worn  in  her  well- 
darned  stockings,  and  which  she  was  sure  the  shopman 
saw,  as  well  as  an  old  lady  who  sat  opposite  —  Hilary 
bought  the  stoutest  and  plainest  of  boots.  The  bill  over- 
stepped her  purse  by  sixpence,  but  she  promised  that  sum 
on  delivery,  and  paid  the  rest.  She  had  got  into  a  nervous 
horror  of  letting  any  account  stand  over  for  a  single  day. 

Look  tenderly,  reader,  on  this  picture  of  struggles  so 
small,  of  sufferings  so  uninteresting  and  mean.  I  paint  it 
not  because  it  is  original,  but  because  it  is  so  awfully  true. 
Thousands  of  women,  well  born,  well  reared,  know  it  to  be 
true — burned  into  them  by  the  cruel  conflict  of  their  youth  ; 
happy  they  if  it  ended  in  their  youth,  while  mind  and  body 
had  still  enough  vitality  and  elasticity  to  endure  !  I  paint 
it  because  it  accounts  for  the  accusation  sometimes  made 
— especially  by  men — that  women  are  naturally  "  stingy." 
Possibly  so ;  but  in  many  instances  may  it  not  have  been 
this  petty  struggle  with  petty  wants,  this  pitiful  calcula- 


128  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

ting  of  penny  against  penny,  how  best  to  save  here  and 
spend  there,  which  narrows  a  woman's  nature  in  spite  of 
herself?  It  sometimes  takes  years  of  comparative  ease 
and  freedom  from  pecuniary  cares  to  counteract  the  grind- 
ing, lowering  effects  of  a  youth  of  poverty. 

And  I  paint  this  picture,  too,  literally,  and  not  on  its  pic- 
turesque side — if,  indeed,  poverty  has  a  picturesque  side — 
in  order  to  show  another  side  which  it  really  has — high, 
heroic,  made  up  of  dauntless  endurance,  self-sacrifice,  and 
self-control.  Also  to  indicate  that  blessing  which  narrow 
circumstances  alone  bestow,  the  habit  of  looking  more  to 
the  realities  than  to  the  shows  of  things,  and  of  finding 
pleasure  in  enjoyments  mental  rather  than  sensuous,  in- 
ward rather  than  external.  When  people  can  truly  recog- 
nize this  they  cease  either  to  be  afraid  or  ashamed  of  pov- 
erty. 

Hilary  was  not  ashamed — not  even  now,  when  hers 
smote  sharper  and  harder  than  it  had  ever  done  at  Stow- 
bury.  She  felt  it  a  sore  thing  enough ;  but  it  never  humil- 
iated nor  angered  her.  Either  she  was  too  proud  or  not 
proud  enough ;  but  her  low  estate  always  seemed  to  her 
too  simply  external  a  thing  to  affect  her  relations  with  the 
world  outside.  She  never  thought  of  being  annoyed  with 
the  shopkeeper,  who,  though  he  trusted  her  with  the  six- 
pence, carefully  took  down  her  name  and  address ;  still 
less  to  suspecting  the  old  lady  opposite,  who  sat  arid  listen- 
ed to  the  transaction — apparently  a  well-to-do  customer, 
clad  in  a  rich  black  silk  and  handsome  sable  furs — of  look- 
ing down  upon  her  and  despising  her.  She  herself  never 
despised  any  body  except  for  wickedness. 

So  she  waited  contentedly,  neither  thinking  of  herself 
nor  of  what  others  thought  of  her,  but  with  her  mind 
quietly  occupied  by  the  two  thoughts,  which  in  any  brief 
space  of  rest  always  recurred,  calming  down  all  annoy- 
ances, and  raising  her  above  the  level  of  petty  pains — Jo- 
hanna, and  Robert  Lyon.  Under  the  influence  of  these 
her  tired  face  grew  composed,  and  there  was  a  wishful, 
far-away,  fond  look  in  her  eyes,  which  made  it  not  wonder- 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  129 

ful  that  the  said  old  lady — apparently  an  acute  old  soul  in 
her  way — should  watch  her,  as  we  do  occasionally  watch 
strangers  in  whom  we  have  become  suddenly  interested. 

There  is  no  accounting  for  these  interests,  or  to  the 
events  to  which  they  give  rise.  Sometimes  they  are  pooh- 
pooh-ed  as  "  romantic,"  "  unnatural,"  "  like  a  bit  in  a  nov- 
el;" and  yet  they  are  facts  continually  occurring,  especial- 
ly to  people  of  quick  intuition,  observation,  and  sympathy. 
Nay,  even  the  most  ordinary  people  have  known  or  heard 
of  such,  resulting  in  mysterious,  life-long  loves;  firm  friend- 
ships ;  strange  yet  often  wonderful  happy  marriages ;  sud- 
den revolutions  of  fortune  and  destiny:  things  utterly  un- 
accountable for,  except  by  the  belief  in  the  unscrutable 
Providence  which 

"  Shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  as  we  will." 

When  Hilary  left  the  shop  she  was  startled  by  a  voice 
at  her  elbow. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  but  if  your  way  lies  up  Southamp- 
ton Row,  would  you  object  to  give  an  old  woman  a  share 
of  that  capital  umbrella  of  yours  ?" 

"  With  pleasure,"  Hilary  answered,  though  the  oddness 
of  the  request  amused  her.  And  it  was  granted  really 
with  pleasure,  for  the  old  lady  spoke  with  those  "  accents 
of  the  mountain  tongue"  which  this  foolish  Hilary  never 
recognized  without  a  thrill  at  the  heart. 

"  Maybe  you  think  an  old  woman  ought  to  take  a  cab, 
and  not  be  intruding  upon  strangers ;  but  I  am  hale  and 
hearty,  and,  being  only  a  street's  length  from  my  own  door, 
I  dislike  to  waste  unnecessary  shillings." 

"  Certainly,"  acquiesced  Hilary,  with  a  half  sigh :  shil- 
lings were  only  too  precious  to  her. 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  boot-shop,  and  you  seemed  the  sort 
of  young  lady  who  would  do  a  kindness  to  an  old  body 
like  me,  so  I  said  to  myself, '  I'll  ask  her.'  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  did."  Poor  girl !  she  felt  unconscious- 
ly pleased  at  finding  herself  still  able  to  show  a  kindness 
to  any  body. 

F2 


130  MISTEESS    AND    MAID. 

They  walked  on  and  on — it  was  certainly  a  long  street's 
length — to  the  stranger's  door,  and  it  took  Hilary  a  good 
way  round  from  hers ;  but  she  said  nothing  of  this,  con- 
cluding, of  course,  that  her  companion  was  unaware  of 
where  she  lived — in  which  she  was  mistaken.  They  stop- 
ped at  last  before  a  respectable  house  near  Brunswick 
Square,  bearing  a  brass  plate,  with  the  words  "Miss  Bal- 
quidder." 

"  That  is  my  name,  and  very  much  obliged  to  you,  my 
dear.  How  it  rains  !  Ye' re  just  droukit." 

Hilary  smiled  and  shook  her  damp  shawl.  "  I  shall  take 
no  harm.  I  am  used  to  going  out  in  all  weathers." 

"Are  you  a  governess?"  The  question  was  so  direct 
and  kindly  that  it  hardly  seemed  an  impertinence. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  have  no  pupils,  and  fear  I  shall  never  get 
any." 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  I  suppose,  because  I  know  nobody  here.  It  seems  so 
very  hard  to  get  teaching  in  London.  But  I  beg  your 
pardon." 

"  I  beg  yours,"  said  Miss  Balquidder — not  without  a  cer- 
tain dignity — "  for  asking  questions  of  a  stranger.  But  I 
was  once  a  stranger  here  myself,  and  had  a  '  sair  fecht,'  as 
we  say  in  Scotland,  before  I  could  earn  even  my  daily 
bread.  Though  I  wasn't  a  governess,  still  I  know  pretty 
well  what  the  sort  of  life  is,  and  if  I  had  daughters  who 
must  work  for  their  bread,  the  one  thing  I  would  urge 
upon  them  should  be — *  Never  become  a  governess.' " 

"  Indeed.     For  what  reason  ?" 

"I'll  not  tell  you  now,  my  dear,  standing  with  all  your 
wet  clothes  on ;  but  as  I  said,  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor 
to  call—" 

"Thank  you!"  said  Hilary,  not  sufficiently  initiated  in 
London  caution  to  dread  making  a  new  aquaintance.  Be- 
sides, she  liked  the  rough-hewn,  good-natured  face,  and 
the  Scotch  accent  was  sweet  to  her  ear. 

Yet  when  she  reached  home  she  was  half  shy  of  telling 
her  sisters  the  engagement  she  had  made.  Selina  was  ex- 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  131 

tremely  shocked,  and  considered  it  quite  necessary  that 
the  London  Directory — the  nearest  clergyman — or  per- 
haps Mr.  Ascott,  who,  living  in  the  parish,  must  know — 
should  be  consulted  as  to  Miss  Balquidder's  respectability. 

"  She  has  much  more  reason  to  question  ours,"  recollect- 
ed Hilary,  with  some  amusement,  "  for  I  never  told  her  my 
name  or  address.  She  does  not  know  a  single  thing  about 
me." 

Which  fact,  arguing  the  matter  energetically  two  days 
after,  the  young  lady  might  not  have  been  so  sure  of,  could 
she  have  penetrated  the  ceiling  overhead.  In  truth,  Miss 
Balquidder,  a  prudent  person,  who  never  did  things  by 
halves,  and,  like  most  truly  generous  people,  was  cautious 
even  in  her  extremest  fits  of  generosity,  at  that  very  mo- 
ment was  sitting  in  Mrs.  Jones's  first  floor,  deliberately  dis- 
covering every  thing  possible  to  be  learned  about  the  Leaf 
family. 

Nevertheless,  owing  to  Selina's  indignant  pertinacity, 
Hilary's  own  hesitation,  and  a  dim  hope  of  a  pupil  which 
rose  up  and  faded  like  the  rest,  the  possible  acquaintance 
lay  dormant  for  two  or  three  weeks ;  till,  alas !  the  fabu- 
lous wolf  actually  came  to  the  door ;  and  the  sisters,  after 
paying  their  week's  rent,  looked  aghast  at  one  another,  not 
knowing  where  in  the  wide  world  the  next  week's  rent  was 
to  come  from. 

"  Thank  God,  we  don't  owe  any  thing — not  a  penny  !" 
gasped  Hilary. 

"  No  ;  there  is  comfort  in  that,"  said  Johanna.  And  the 
expression  of  her  folded  hands  and  upward  face  was  not 
despairing,  even  though  that  of  the  poor  widow,  when  hei 
barrel  of  meal  was  gone,  and  her  cruse  of  oil  spent,  would 
hardly  have  been  sadder. 

"  I  am  sure  we  have  wasted  nothing,  and  cheated  nobody 
— surely  God  will  help  us." 

"  I  know  he  will,  my  child." 

And  the  two  sisters,  elder  and  younger,  kissed  one  an- 
other, cried  a  little,  and  then  sat  down  to  consider  what 
was  to  be  done. 


132  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

Ascott  must  be  told  how  things  were  with  them.  Hith- 
erto they  had  not  troubled  him  much  with  their  affairs ; 
indeed,  he  was  so  little  at  home.  And,  after  some  private 
consultation,  both  Johanna  and  Hilary  decided  that  it  was 
wisest  to  let  the  lad  come  and  go  as  he  liked,  not  attempt- 
ing— as  he  once  indignantly  expressed  it — "  to  tie  him  to 
their  apron-strings."  For  instinctively  these  maiden  la- 
dies felt  that  with  men,  and,  above  all,  young  men,  the  only 
way  to  bind  the  wandering  heart  was  to  leave  it  free,  ex- 
cept by  trying  their  utmost  that  home  should  be  always  a 
pleasant  home. 

It  was  touching  to  see  their  efforts,  when  Ascott  came  in 
of  evenings,  to  enliven  for  his  sake  the  dull  parlor  at  No. 
15.  How  Johanna  put  away  her  mending,  and  Selina 
ceased  to  grumble,  and  Hilary  began  her  lively  chat,  that 
never  failed  to  brighten  and  amuse  the  household.  Her 
nephew  even  sometimes  acknowledged  that  wherever  he 
went,  he  met  nobody  so  "  clever"  as  Aunt  Hilary. 

So,  presuming  upon  her  influence  with  him,  on  this  night, 
after  the  rest  were  gone  to  bed,  she — being  always  the 
boldest  to  do  any  unpleasant  thing — said  to  him, 

u  Ascott,  how  are  your  business  affairs  progressing  ? 
When  do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  get  into  practice?" 

"Oh,  presently.     There's  no  hurry." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Do  you  know,  my  dear  boy" 
— and  she  opened  her  purse,  which  contained  a  few  shil- 
lings— "that  this  is  all  the  money  we  have  in  the  world?" 

"Nonsense,"  said  Ascott,  laughing.  "I  beg  your  par- 
don," he  added,  seeing  it  was  with  her  no  laughing  matter ; 
"  but  I  am  so  accustomed  to  be  hard  up  that  I  don't  seem 
to  care.  It  always  comes  right  somehow — at  least  with 
me." 

"How?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  exactly  know ;  but  it  does.  Don't  fret, 
Aunt  Hilary.  I'll  lend  you  a  pound  or  two." 

She  drew  back.  These  poor,  proud,  fond  women,  who, 
if  their  boy,  instead  of  a  fine  gentleman,  had  been  a  help- 
less invalid,  would  have  tended  him,  worked  for  him,  nay, 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  133 

begged  for  him — cheerfully,  oh  !  how  cheerfully ;  wanting 
nothing  in  the  whole  world  but  his  love — they  could  not 
ask  him  for  his  money.  Even  now,  offered  thus,  Hilary 
felt  as  if  to  take  it  would  be  intolerable. 

Still  the  thing  must  be  done. 

"  I  wish,  Ascott" — and  she  nerved  herself  to  say  what 
somebody  ought  to  say  to  him — "I  wish  you  would  not 
lend,  but  pay  us  the  pound  a  week  you  said  you  could  so 
easily  spare." 

"To  be  sure  I  will.  What  a  thoughtless  fellow  I  have 
been  !  But — but — I  fancied  you  would  have  asked  me  if 
you  wanted  it.  Never  mind,  you'll  get  it  all  in  a  lump. 
Let  me  see — how  much  will  it  come  to  ?  You  are  the  best 
head  going  for  arithmetic,  Aunt  Hilary.  Do  reckon  it  all 
up!" 

She  did  so,  and  the  sum  total  made  Ascott  open  his  eyes 
wide. 

"Upon  my  soul  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  much.  I'm  very 
sorry,  but  I  seem  fairly  cleaned  out  this  quarter — only  a 
few  sovereigns  left  to  keep  the  mill  going.  You  shall  have 
them,  or  half  of  them,  and  I'll  owe  you  the  rest.  Here!" 

He  emptied  on  the  table,  without  counting,  four  or  five 
pounds.  Hilary  took  two,  asking  him  gravely  "if  he  was 
sure  he  could  spare  so  much.  She  did  not  wish  to  incon- 
venience him." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all ;  and  I  wouldn't  mind  if  it  did ;  you  have 
been  good  aunts  to  me." 

He  kissed  her,  with  a  sudden  fit  of  compunction,  and 
bade  her  good-night,  looking  as  if  he  did  not  care  to  be 
"  bothered"  any  more. 

Hilary  retired,  more  sad,  more  hopeless  about  him  than 
if  he  had  slammed  the  door  in  her  face,  or  scolded  her  like 
a  trooper.  Had  he  met  her  seriousness  in  the  same  spirit, 
even  though  it  had  been  a  sullen  or  angry  spirit — and  lit- 
tle as  she  said  he  must  have  felt — she  wished  him  to  feel — 
that  his  aunts  were  displeased  with  him ;  but  that  utterly 
unimpressible  light-heartedness  of  his — there  was  no  doing 
any  thing  with  it.  There  was,  so  to  speak,  "no  catching 


134  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

hold"  of  Ascott.  He  meant  no  harm.  She  repeated  over 
and  over  again  that  the  lad  meant  no  harm.  He  had  no 
evil  ways ;  was  always  pleasant,  good-natured,  and  affec- 
tionate, in  his  own  careless  fashion,  but  was  no  more  to  be 
relied  on  than  a  straw  that  every  wind  blows  hither  and 
thither,  or,  to  use  a  common  simile,  a  butterfly  that  never 
sees  any  thing  farther  than  the  nearest  flower.  His  was, 
in  short,  the  pleasure-loving  temperament,  not  positively 
sinful  or  sensual,  but  still  holding  the  pleasure  as  the  great- 
est good;  and  regarding  what  deeper  natures  call  "duty," 
and  find  therein  their  strong-hold  and  consolation,  as  a 
mere  bugbear,  or  a  sentimental  theory,  or  an  impossible 
folly. 

Poor  lad  !  and  he  had  the  world  to  fight  with ;  how 
would  it  use  him?  Even  if  no  heavy  sorrows  for  himself 
or  others  smote  him,  his  handsome  face  would  have  to 
grow  old,  his  strong  frame  to  meet  sickness — death.  How 
would  he  do  it  ?  That  is  the  thought  which  always  re- 
curs. What  is  the  end  of  such  men  as  these  ?  Alas  !  the 
answer  would  come  from  hospital  wards,  alms-houses  and 
work-houses,  debtors'  prisons  and  lunatic  asylums. 

To  apprehensions  like  this — except  the  last,  happily  it 
was  as  yet  too  far  off — Hilary  had  been  slowly  and  sadly 
arriving  about  Ascott  for  weeks  past ;  and  her  conversation 
with  him  to-night  seemed  to  make  them  darken  down  upon 
her  with  added  gloom.  As  she  went  up  stairs  she  set  her 
lips  together  hard. 

"  I  see  there  is  nobody  to  do  any  thing  except  me.  But 
I  must  not  tell  Johanna." 

She  lay  long  awake,  planning  every  conceivable  scheme 
for  saving  money,  till  at  length,  her  wits  sharpened  by 
the  desperation  of  the  circumstances,  there  flashed  upon 
her  an  idea  that  came  out  of  a  talk  she  had  had  with  Eliz- 
abeth that  morning.  True,  it  was  a  perfectly  new  and  un- 
tried chance — and  a  mere  chance ;  still  it  was  right  to 
overlook  nothing.  She  would  not  have  ventured  to  tell 
Selina  of  it  for  the  world,  and  even  to  Johanna  she  only 
said — finding  her  as  wakeful  as  herself — said  it  in  a  care 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  135 

less  manner,  as  if  it  had  relation  to  nothing,  and  she  ex- 
pected nothing  from  it — 

"  I  think,  as  I  have  nothing  else  to  do,  I  will  go  and  see 
Miss  Balquidder  to-morrow  morning." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Miss  BALQUIDDER'S  house  was  a  handsome  one,  hand- 
somely furnished,  and  a  neat  little  maid-servant  showed 
Hilary  at  once  into  the  dining-parlor,  where  the  mistress 
sat  before  a  business-like  writing-table  covered  with  letters, 
papers,  etc.,  all  arranged  with  that  careful  order  in  disor- 
der which  indicates,  even  in  the  smallest  things,  the  posses- 
sion of  an  accurate,  methodical  mind,  than  which  there  are 
few  greater  possessions  either  to  its  owner  or  to  the  world 
at  large. 

Miss  Balquidder  was  not  a  personable  woman  ;  she  had 
never  been  so  even  in  youth  ;  and  age  had  told  its  tale  upon 
those  large,  strong  features — "  thoroughly  Scotch  features" 
they  would  have  been  called  by  those  who  think  all  Scotch- 
women are  necessarily  big,  raw-boned,  and  ugly,  and  have 
never  seen  that  wonderfully  noble  beauty — not  prettiness, 
but  actual  beauty  in  its  highest  physical  as  well  as  spirit- 
ual development — which  is  not  seldom  found  across  the 
Tweed. 

But,  while  there  was  nothing  lovely,  there  was  nothing 
unpleasant  or  uncomely  in  Miss  Balquidder.  Her  large 
figure,  in  its  plain  black  silk  dress  ;  her  neat  white  cap, 
from  under  which  peeped  the  little  round  curls  of  flaxen 
hair,  neither  gray  nor  snowy,  but  real  "  lint-white  locks" 
still;  and  her  good-humored,  motherly  look  —  motherly 
rather  than  old-maidish — gave  an  impression  which  may 
be  best  described  by  the  word  "  comfortable."  She  was  a 
"  comfortable"  woman.  She  had  that  quality — too  rare, 
alas  !  in  all  people,  and  rarest  in  women  going  solitary 
down  the  hill  of  life — of  being  able,  out  of  the  deep  content 
of  her  own  nature,  to  make  other  people  the  same. 


136  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

Hilary  was  cheered  in  spite  of  herself ;  it  always  conveys 
hope  to  the  young,  when  in  sore  trouble,  if  they  see  the  old 
looking  happy. 

"  Welcome,  my  dear !  I  was  afraid  you  had  forgotten 
your  promise." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Hilary,  responding  heartily  to  the  hearty 
clasp  of  a  hand  large  as  a  man's,  but  soft  as  a  woman's. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  sooner  ?" 

More  than  one  possible  excuse  flashed  through  Hilary's 
mind, but  she  was  too  honest  to  give  it.  She  gave  none  at 
all.  Nor  did  she  like  to  leave  the  impression  that  this  was 
merely  a  visit,  when  she  knew  she  had  only  come  from  sec- 
ondary and  personal  motives. 

"  May  I  tell  you  why  I  came  to-day  ?  Because  I  want 
advice  and  help,  and  I  think  you  can  give  it,  from  some- 
thing I  heard  about  you  yesterday."  7 

"  Indeed  !     From  whom  ?" 

"In  rather  a  roundabout  way;  from  Mrs.  Jones,  who  told 
our  maid-servant." 

"  The  same  girl  I  met  on  the  staircase  at  your  house  ? 
I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  know  where  you  live,  Miss  Leaf; 
your  landlady  happens  to  be  an  acquaintance  of  mine." 

"  So  she  said ;  and  she  told  our  Elizabeth  that  you  were 
a  rich  and  benevolent  woman,  who  took  a  great  interest  in 
helping  other  women  ;  not  in  money" — blushing  scarlet  at 
the  idea — "I  don't  mean  that,  but  in  procuring  them  work. 
I  want  work — oh  !  so  terribly.  If  you  only  knew — " 

"Sit  down,  my  dear" — for  Hilary  was  trembling  much, 
her  voice  breaking,  and  her  eyes  filling  in  spite  of  all  her 
self-command. 

Miss  Balquidder — who  seemed  accustomed  to  wait  upon 
herself — went  out  of  the  room,  and  returned  with  cake  and 
glasses  ;  then  she  took  the  wine  from  the  sideboard,  pour- 
ed some  out  for  herself  and  Hilary,  and  began  to  talk. 

"  It  is  nearly  my  luncheon-time,  and  I  am  a  great  friend 
to  regular  eating  and  drinking.  I  never  let  any  thing  in- 
terfere with  my  own  meals,  or  other  folks'  either,  if  I  can 
help  it.  I  would  as  soon  expect  that  fire  to  keep  itself  up 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  137 

without  coals,  as  my  mind  to  go  on  working  if  I  don't  look 
after  my  body.  You  understand  ?  You  seem  to  have  good 
health,  Miss  Leaf.  I  hope  you  are  a  prudent  girl,  and  take 
care  of  it." 

"I  think  I  do" — and  Hilary  smiled.  "At  any  rate,  my 
sister  does  for  me,  and  also  Elizabeth." 

"Ah  !  I  liked  the  look  of  that  girl.  If  families  did  but 
know  that  the  most  useful  patent  of  respectability  they 
can  carry  about  with  them  is  their  maid-servant !  That  is 
how  I  always  judge  my  new  acquaintances." 

"There's  reason  in  it  too," said  Hilary,  amused  and  drawn 
out  of  herself  by  the  frank  manner  and  the  cordial  voice — 
I  use  the  adjective  advisedly :  none  the  less  sweet  because 
its  good  terse  English  had  a  decided  Scotch  accent,  with 
here  and  there  a  Scotch  word.  Also  there  was  about  Miss 
Balquidder  a  certain  dry  humor  essentially  Scotch — nei- 
ther Irish  "  wit"  nor  English  "fun,"  but  Scotch  humor  ;  a 
little  ponderous,  perhaps,  yet  sparkling ;  like  the  sparkles 
from  a  large  lump  of  coal,  red-warm  at  the  heart,  and  ca- 
pable of  warming  a  whole  household,  as  many  a  time  it  had 
warmed  the  little  household  at  Stowbury,  for  Robert  Lyon 
had  it  in  perfection.  Like  a  waft  as  from  old  times,  it 
made  Hilary  at  once  feel  at  home  with  Miss  Balquidder. 

Equally, Miss  Balquidder  might  have  seen  something  in 
this  girl's  patient,  heroic,  forlorn  youth  which  reminded  her 
of  her  own.  Unreasoning  as  these  sudden  attractions  ap- 
pear, there  is  often  a  hidden  something  beneath  which  in 
reality  makes  them  both  natural  and  probable,  as  was  the 
case  here.  In  half  an  hour  these  two  women  were  sitting 

O 

talking  like  old  friends,  and  Hilary  had  explained  her  pres- 
ent position,  needs,  and  desires.  They  ended  in  the  one 
cry  —  familiar  to  how  many  thousands  more  of  helpless 
young  women — "  I  want  work  !" 

Miss  Balquidder  listened  thoughtfully.  Not  that  it  was 
a  new  story — alas  !  she  heard  it  every  day ;  but  there  was 
something  new  in  the  telling  of  it ;  such  extreme  directness 
and  simplicity,  such  utter  want  of  either  false  pride  or  false 
shame.  No  asking  of  favors,  and  yet  no  shrinking  from 


133  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

well-meant  kindness ;  the  poor  woman  speaking  freely  to 
the  rich  one,  recognizing  the  common  womanhood  of  both, 
and  never  supposing  for  an  instant  that  mere  money  or  po- 
sition could  make  any  difference  between  them. 

The  story  ended,  both  turned,  as  was  the  character  of 
both,  to  the  practical  application  of  it — what  it  was  exact- 
ly that  Hilary  needed,  and  what  Miss  Balquidder  could 
supply. 

The  latter  said,  after  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the 
room  with  her  hands  behind  her — the  only  masculine  trick 
she  had — 

"My  dear, before  going  farther,  I  ought  to  tell  you  one 
thing — I  am  not  a  lady." 

Hilary  looked  at  her  in  no  little  bewilderment. 

"  That  is,"  explained  Miss  Balquidder,  laughing,  "  not  an 
educated  gentlewoman  like  you.  I  made  my  money  my- 
self— in  trade.  I  kept  an  outfitter's  shop." 

"  You  must  have  kept  it  uncommonly  well,"  was  the  in- 
voluntary reply,  which,  in  its  extreme  honesty  and  na'ivete, 
was  perhaps  the  best  thing  that  Hilary  could  have  said. 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  did,"  and  Miss  Balquidder  laughed  hev 
hearty  laugh,  betraying  one  of  her  few  weaknesses — a  con- 
sciousness of  her  own  capabilities  as  a  woman  of  business, 
and  a  pleasure  at  her  own  deserved  success. 

"  Therefore,  yon  see,  I  can  not  help  you  as  a  governess. 
Perhaps  I  would  not  if  I  could,  for,  so  far  as  I  see,  a  good 
clearance  of  one  half  the  governesses  into  honest  trades 
would  be  for  their  own  benefit,  and  greatly  to  the  benefit 
of  the  other  half.  But  that's  not  my  affair.  I  only  med- 
dle with  things  I  understand.  Miss  Leaf,  would  you  be 
ashamed  of  keeping  a  shop  ?" 

It  is  no  reflection  upon  Hilary  to  confess  that  this  point- 
blank  question  startled  her.  Her  bringing  up  had  been 
strictly  among  the  professional  class  ;  and  in  the  provinces 
sharper  than  even  in  London  is  drawn  the  line  between  the 
richest  tradesman  who  "  keeps  a  shop,"  and  the  poorest 
lawyer,  doctor,  or  clergyman  who  ever  starved  in  decent 
gentility.  It  had  been  often  a  struggle  for  Hilary  Leaf's 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  139 

girlish  pride  to  have  to  teach  A  B  C  to  little  boys  and  girls 
whose  parents  stood  behind  counters ;  but  tts  she  grew  old- 
er she  grew  wiser,  and  intercourse  with  Robert  Lyon  had 
taught  her  much.  She  never  forgot  one  day,  when  Selina 
asked  him  something  about  his  grandfather  or  great-grand- 
father, and  he  answered  quickly,  smiling,  "Well,  I  suppose 
I  had  one,  but  I  really  never  heard."  Nevertheless,  it  takes 
long  to  conquer  entirely  the  class  prejudices  of  years,  nay, 
more,  of  generations.  In  spite  of  her  will,  Hilary  felt  her- 
self wince,  and  the  color  rush  all  over  her  face,  at  Miss  Bal- 
quidder's  question. 

"Take  time  to  answer,  and  speak  out,  my  dear.  Don't 
be  afraid.  You'll  not  offend  me." 

The  kindly,  cheerful  tone  made  Hilary  recover  her  bal- 
ance immediately. 

"I  never  thought  of  it  before  ;  the  possibility  of  such  a 
thing  did  not  occur  to  me  ;  but  I  hope  I  should  not  be 
ashamed  of  any  honest  work  for  which  I  was  competent. 
Only — to  serve  in  a  shop — to  wait  upon  strangers — I  am 
so  horribly  shy  of  strangers."  And  again  the  sensitive 
color  rushed  in  a  perfect  tide  over  cheeks  and  forehead. 

Miss  Balquidder  looked,  half  amused,  compassionately  at 
her. 

"No,  my  dear,  you  would  not  make  a  good  shop-woman 
— at  least  there  are  many  who  are  better  fitted  for  it  than 
yon  ;  and  it  is  my  maxim  that  people  should  try  to  find 
out,  and  to  do,  only  that  which  they  are  best  fitted  for.  If 
they  did  we  might  not  have  so  many  cases  of  proud  despair 
and  ambitious  failure  in  the  world.  It  looks  very  grand 
and  interesting  sometimes  to  try  and  do  what  you  can't  do, 
and  then  tear  your  hair,  and  think  the  world  has  ill  used 
you — very  grand,  but  very  siTly  ;  when  all  the  while,  per- 
haps, there  is  something  else  you  can  do  thoroughly  well, 
and  the  world  will  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  you  for  doing 
it,  and  not  doing  the  other  thing.  As  doubtless  the  world 
was  to  me,  when,  instead  of  being  a  mediocre  musician,  as 
1  once  wished  to  be— it's  true,  my  dear — I  took  to  keeping 
one  of  the  best  ladies'  outfitting  warehouses  in  London." 


140  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

While  she  talked  her  companion  had  quite  recovered 
herself,  and  Miss  Balquidder  then  went  on  to  explain,  what 
I  will  tell  more  briefly,  if  less  graphically,  than  the  good 
Scotchwoman,  who,  like  all  who  have  had  a  hard  struggle 
in  their  youth,  liked  a  little  to  dilate  upon  it  in  easy  old 
age. 

Hard  as  it  was,  however,  it  had  ended  early,  for  at  fifty 
she  found  herself  a  woman  of  independent  property,  with- 
out kith  or  kin,  still  active,  energetic,  and  capable  of  en- 
joying life.  She  applied  her  mind  to  find  out  what  she 
could  best  do  with  herself  and  her  money. 

"  I  might  have  bought  a  landed  estate  to  be  inherited 
by — nobody ;  or  a  house  in  Belgravia,  and  an  opera-box, 
to  be  shared  by — nobody.  We  all  have  our  pet  luxuries; 
none  of  these  were  exactly  mine." 

"No,"  assented  Hilary,  somewhat  abstractedly.  She  was 
thinking — if  she  could  make  a  fortune,  and — and  give  it 
away  !  —  if,  by  any  means,  any  honorable,  upright  heart 
could  be  made  to  understand  that  it  did  not  signify,  in  re- 
ality, which  side  the  money  came  from ;  that  it  sometimes 
showed  deeper,  the  very  deepest  attachment,  when  a  proud, 
poor  man  had  self-respect  and  courage  enough  to  say  to  a 
woman,  "  I  love  you,  and  I  will  marry  you  ;  I  am  not  such 
a  coward  as  to  be  afraid  of  your  gold." 

But,  oh !  what  a  ridiculous  dream ! — and  she  sat  there, 
the  penniless  Hilary  Leaf,  listening  to  Miss  Balquidder,  the 
rich  lady,  whose  life  seemed  so  easy.  For  the  moment,  per- 
haps, her  own  appeared  hard.  But  she  had  hope,  and  she 
was  young.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  years  and  years  that 
had  had  to  be  lived  through  before  those  kind  eyes  looked 
as  clear  and  cloudless  as  now  ;  before  the  voice  had  gained 
the  sweet  evenness  of  tone  which  she  liked  to  listen  to,  and 
felt  that  it  made  her  quiet  and  "  good,"  almost  like  Jo- 
hanna's. 

"You  see,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Balquidder,  "when  one 
has  no  duties,  one  must  just  make  them;  when  we  have 
nobody  to  care  for  us,  we  must  take  to  caring  for  every 
body.  I  suppose" — here  a  slight  pause  indicated  that  this 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  141 

life,  like  all  women's  lives,  had  had  its  tale,  now  long,  long 
told — "  I  suppose  I  was  not  meant  to  be  a  wife,  but  I  am 
quite  certain  I  was  meant  to  be  a  mother.  And" — with 
her  peculiar, bright, humorous  look — "you'd  be  astonished, 
Miss  Leaf,  if  you  knew  what  lots  of l  children'  I  have  in  all 
parts  of  the  world." 

Miss  Balquidder  then  wrent  on  to  explain,  that  finding, 
from  her  own  experience,  how  great  was  the  number,  and 
how  sore  the  trial,  of  young  women  who  nowadays  are 
obliged  to  work — obliged  to  forget  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  the  blessed  privilege  of  being  worked  for — she 
had  set  herself,  in  her  small  way,  to  try  and  help  them. 
Her  pet  project  was  to  induce  educated  women  to  quit  the 
genteel  starvation  of  governess-ships  for  some  good  trade, 
thereby  bringing  higher  intelligence  into  a  class  which 
needed,  not  the  elevation  of  the  work  itself,  which  was 
comparatively  easy  and  refined,  but  of  the  workers.  She 
had  therefore  invested  sum  after  sum  of  her  capital  in  set- 
ting up  various  small  shops  in  the  environs  of  London,  in 
her  own  former  line,  and  others — stationers,  lace-shops,  etc. 
— trades  which  could  be  well  carried  on  by  women.  Into 
the  management  of  these  she  put  as  many  young  girls  as 
she  could  find  really  fitted  for  it,  or  willing  to  learn,  pay- 
ing them  regular  salaries,  large  or  small,  according  to  their 
deserts. 

"  Fair  work,  fair  pay ;  not  one  penny  more  or  less ;  I 
never  do  it ;  it  would  not  be  honest.  I  overlook  each  bus- 
iness myself,  and  it  is  carried  on  in  my  name.  Sometimes 
it  brings  me  in  a  little  profit,  sometimes  not.  Of  course," 
she  added,  smiling, "  I  would  rather  have  profits  than  loss- 
es ;  still,  I  balance  one  against  the  other,  and  it  leaves  me 
generally  a  small  interest  for  my  money — two  or  three  per 
cent.,  which  is  all  I  care  about.  Thus,  you  see,  I  and  my 
young  people  make  a  fair  bargain  on  both  sides ;  it's  no 
chanty.  I  don't  believe  in  charity." 

"  No,"  said  Hilary,  feeling  her  spirit  rise.  She  was  yet 
young  enough,  yet  enough  unworn  by  the  fight  to  feel  the 
deliciousness  of  work — honest  work  for  honest  pay.  "  I 


142  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

think  I  could  do  it,"  she  added.  "I  think,  with  a  little 
practice,  I  really  could  keep  a  shop." 

"  At  all  events,  perhaps  you  could  do  what  I  find  more 
difficult  to  get  done,  and  well  done,  for  it  requires  a  far 
higher  class  of  women  than  generally  apply :  you  could 
keep  the  accounts  of  a  shop ;  you  should  be  the  head,  and 
it  would  be  easy  to  find  the  hands.  Let  me  see ;  there  is 
a  young  lady,  she  has  managed  my  stationer's  business  at 
Kensington  these  two  years,  and  now  she  is  going  to  be 
married.  Are  you  good  at  figures?  Do  you  understand 
book-keeping  ?" 

And  suddenly  changing  into  the  woman  of  business,  and 
one  who  was  evidently  quite  accustomed  both  to  arrange 
and  command,  Miss  Balquidder  put  Hilary  through  a  sort 
of  extempore  arithmetical  catechism,  from  which  she  came 
oif  with  flying  colors. 

"I  only  wish  there  were  more  like  you.  I  wish  there 
were  more  young  ladies  brought  up  like — " 

"  Like  boys  !"  said  Hilary,  laughing,  "  for  I  always  used 
to  say  that  was  my  case." 

"  No,  I  never  desire  to  see  young  women  made  into  men." 
And  Miss  Balquidder  seemed  a  little  scandalized.  "But 
I  do  wish  girls  were  taught  few7er  accomplishments,  and 
more  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic ;  were  made  as  ac- 
curate, orderly,  and  able  to  help  themselves  as  boys  are. 
But  to  business.  Will  you  take  the  management  of  my 
stationer's  shop?" 

Hilary's  breath  came  hard  and  fast.  Much  as  she  had 
longed  for  work,  to  get  this  sort  of  work — to  keep  a  sta- 
tioner's shop  !  What  would  her  sisters  say  ?  what  would 
he  say?  But  she  dared  not  think  of  that  just  now. 

"How  much  should  I  be  able  to  earn,  do  you  think?" 

Miss  Balquidder  considered  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
rather  shortly,  for  it  was  not  exactly  acting  on  her  own 
principles;  she  knew  the  pay  was  above  the  work.  "I 
will  give  you  a  hundred  a  year." 

A  hundred  a  year !  actually  certain,  and  over  and  above 
any  other  income.  It  seemed  a  fortune  to  poor  Hilary. 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  143 

'c  Will  you  give  me  a  day  or  two  to  think  about  it  and 
consult  my  sisters  ?" 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  Miss  Balquidder  could  see  how 
agitated  she  was;  how  she  evidently  struggled  with  many 
feelings  that  would  be  best  struggled  with  alone.  The 
good  old  lady  rose. 

"  Take  your  own  time,  my  dear ;  I  will  keep  the  situation 
open  for  you  for  one  week  from  this  date.  And  now  I  must 
send  you  away,  for  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 

They  parted,  quite  like  friends;  and  Hilary  Avent  out, 
walking  quickly,  feeling  neither  the  wind  nor  the  rain. 
Yet  when  she  reached  No.  15  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  enter,  but  took  another  turn  or  two  round  the  Crescent, 
trying  to  be  quite  sure  of  her  own  mind  before  she  opened 
the  matter  to  her  sisters.  And  there  was  one  little  battle 
to  be  fought  which  the  sisters  did  not  know. 

It  was  perhaps  foolish,  seeing  she  did  not  belong  to  him 
in  any  open  way,  and  he  had  no  external  right  over  her 
life  or  her  actions,  that  she  should  go  back  and  back  to  the 
question,  "What  would  Robert  Lyon  say?" 

He  knew  she  earned  her  daily  bread ;  sometimes  this 
had  seemed  to  vex  and  annoy  him,  but  it  must  be  done ; 
and  when  a  thing  was  inevitable,  it  was  not  Mr.  Lyon's 
way  to  say  much  about  it.  But  being  a  governess  was  an 
accredited  and  customary  mode  of  a  young  lady's  earning 
her  livelihood.  This  was  different.  If  he  should  think  it 
too  public,  too  unfeminine  :  he  had  such  a  horror  of  a  wom- 
an's being  any  thing  but  a  woman,  as  strong  and  brave  as 
she  could,  but  in  a  womanly  way ;  doing  any  thing,  how- 
ever painful,  that  she  was  obliged  to  do,  but  never  out  of 
choice  or  bravado,  or  the  excitement  of  stepping  out  of 
her  own  sphere  into  man's.  Would  Robert  Lyon  think 
less  of  her,  Hilary,  because  she  had  to  learn  to  take  care 
of  herself,  to  protect  herself,  and  to  act  in  so  many  ways 
for  herself,  contrary  to  the  natural  and  right  order  of 
things?  That  old  order  —  God  forbid  it  should  ever 
change  !  —  which  ordained  that  the  women  should  be 
"keepers  at  home;"  happy  rulers  of  that  happy  little 


144  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

world,  which  seemed  as  far  off  as  the  next  world  from  this 
poor  Hilary. 

"  What  if  he  should  look  down  upon  me?  What  if  he 
should  return  and  find  me  different  from  what  he  expect- 
ed ?"  And  bitter  tears  burned  in  her  eyes  as  she  walked 
rapidly  and  passionately  along  the  deserted  street.  Then 
a  revulsion  came. 

"No;  love  is  worth  nothing  that  is  not  worth  every 
thing,  and  to  be  trusted  through  every  thing.  If  he  could 
forget  me — could  love  any  one  better  than  me  —  me  my- 
self, no  matter  what  I  was — ugly  or  pretty,  old  or  young, 
rich  or  poor  —  I  would  not  care  for  his  love.  It  would 
not  be  worth  my  having;  I'd  let  it  go.  Robert, though  it 
broke  my  heart,  I'd  let  you  go." 

Her  eyes  flashed ;  her  poor  little  hand  clenched  itself 
under  her  shawl;  and  then,  as  a  half  reproach,  she  heard 
in  fancy  the  steady  loving  voice — which  could  have  calm- 
ed her  wildest  paroxysm  of  passion  and  pain — "  You  must 
trust  me,  Hilary." 

Yes,  he  was  a  man  to  be  trusted.  No  doubt  very  much 
like  other  men,  and  by  no  means  such  a  hero  to  the  world 
at  large  as  this  fond  girl  made  him  out  to  be ;  but  Robert 
Lyon  had,  with  all  people,  and  under  all  circumstances, 
the  character  of  reliableness.  He  had  also  —  you  might 
read  it  in  his  face  —  a  quality  equally  rare,  faithfulness. 
Not  merely  sincerity,  but  faithfulness;  the  power  of  con- 
ceiving one  clear  purpose  or  one  strong  love — in  unity  is 
strength — and  of  not  only  keeping  true  to  it  at  the  time, 
but  of  holding  fast  to  it  with  a  single-minded  persistency 
that  never  even  takes  in  the  idea  of  voluntary  change,  as 
long  as  persistency  is  right  or  possible. 

"  Robert,  Robert !"  sobbed  this  forlorn  girl,  as  if  slowly 
waking  up  to  a  sense  of  her  forlornness,  and  of  the  almost 
universal  fickleness  —  not  actual  falseness,  but  fickleness, 
which  prevails  in  the  world  and  among  mankind.  "  Oh 
Robert,  be  faithful !  faithful  to  yourself— faithful  to  me  !" 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  145 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHEN  Miss  Hilary  reached  home,  Elizabeth  opened  the 
floor  to  her ;  the  parlor  was  deserted. 

Miss  Leaf  had  gone  to  lie  down,  and  Miss  Selina  was 
away  to  see  the  Lord  Mayor's  Show  with  Mr.  Peter  As- 
cott. 

"  With  Mr.  Peter  Ascott !"  Hilary  was  a  little  sur- 
prised, but  on  second  thoughts  she  found  it  natural;  Se- 
lina was  glad  of  any  amusement — to  her,  not  only  the  nar- 
rowness, but  the  dullness  of  their  poverty  was  inexpressi- 
bly galling.  "  She  will  be  back  to  dinner,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Elizabeth,  briefly. 

Had  Miss  Hilary  been  less  preoccupied,  she  would  have 
noticed  something  not  quite  right  about  the  girl  —  some- 
thing that  at  any  other  time  would  have  aroused  the  di- 
rect question, "  What  is  the  matter,  Elizabeth  ?"  For  Miss 
Hilary  did  not  consider  it  beneath  her  dignity  to  observe 
that  things  might  occasionally  go  wrong  with  this  solita- 
ry young  woman,  away  from  her  friends,  and  exposed  to 
all  the  annoyances  of  London  lodgings;  that  many  trifles 
might  happen  to  worry  and  perplex  her.  If  the  mistress 
could  not  set  them  right,  she  could,  at  least  give  the  word 
of  kindly  sympathy,  as  precious  to  "  a  poor  servant"  as  to 
the  queen  on  her  throne. 

This  time,  however,  it  came  not,  and  Elizabeth  disap- 
peared below  stairs  immediately. 

The  girl  was  revolving  in  her  own  mind  a  difficult  eth- 
ical question.  To-day,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
had  not  "  told  Miss  Hilary  every  thing."  Two  things  had 
happened,  and  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  as  to 
whether  she  ouGfht  to  communicate  them. 

O 

Now  Elizabeth  had  a  conscience,  by  nature  a  very  ten- 
der one,  and  which,  from  circumstances,  had  been  cultiva- 
ted into  a  much  higher  sensitiveness  than,  alas !  is  com- 

G 


146  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

mon  among  her  class,  or,  indeed,  in  any  class-  This,  't  an 
error,  was  Miss  Hilary's  doing :  it  probably  caused  Eliza- 
beth a  few  more  miseries,  and  vexations,  and  painful  shocks 
in  the  world  than  she  would  have  had  had  she  imbibed 
only  the  ordinary  tone  of  morality,  especially  the  morality 
of  ordinary  domestic  servants ;  but  it  was  an  error  upon 
which,  in  summing  up  her  life,  the  Recording  Angel  would 
gravely  smile. 

The  first  trial  had  happened  at  breakfast-time.  Ascott, 
descending  earlier  than  his  wont,  had  asked  her,  Did  any 
gentleman,  short  and  dirty,  with  a  hooked-nose,  inquire  for 
him  yesterday  ? 

Elizabeth  thought  a  minute,  and  recollected  that  some 
person  answering  the  above  not  too  flattering  description 
had  called,  but  refused  to  leave  his  name,  saying  he  did 
not  know  the  ladies,  but  was  a  particular  friend  of  Mr. 
Leaf's. 

Ascott  laughed.  "So  he  is  —  a  very  particular  friend, 
but  my  aunts  would  not  fancy  him,  and  I  don't  want  him 
to  come  here.  Say,  if  he  calls,  that  I'm  gone  out  of  town." 

^Very  well,  sir.  Shall  you  start  before  dinner?"  said 
Elizabeth,  whose  practical  mind  immediately  recurred  to 
that  meal,  and  to  the  joint,  always  contrived  to  be  hot  on 
the  days  that  Ascott  dined  at  home. 

He  seemed  excessively  tickled.  "Bless  you,  you  are 
the  greatest  innocent !  Just  say  what  I  tell  you,  and  nev- 
er mind — hush  !  here's  Aunt  Hilary." 

And  Miss  Hilary's  anxious  face,  white  with  long  wake- 
fulness,  had  put  out  of  Elizabeth's  head  the  answer  that 
was  coming ;  indeed,  the  matter  slipped  from  her  mind  al- 
together, in  consequence  of  another  circumstance  which 
gave  her  much  more  perplexity. 

During  her  young  mistress's  absence,  supposing  Miss 
Selina  out  'too,  and  Miss  Leaf  up  stairs,  she  had  come  sud- 
denly into  the  parlor  without  knocking.  There,  to  her 
amazement,  she  saw  Miss  Selina  and  Mr.  Ascott  standing, 
in  close  conversation,  over  the  fire.  They  were  so  engross- 
ed that  they  did  not  notice  her,  and  she  shut  the  door 


MISTRESS  A:XD  MAID.  147 

again  immediately.  But  what  confounded  her  was  that 
she  was  certain,  absolutely  certain,  Mr.  Ascott  had  his  arm 
round  Miss  Selina's  waist ! 

Now  that  was  no  business  of  hers,  and  yet  the  faithful 
domestic  was  a  good  deal  troubled ;  still  more  so  when, 
by  Miss  Leaf's  excessive  surprise  at  hearing  of  the  visitor 
who  had  come  and  gone,  carrying  Miss  Selina  away  to  the 
city,  she  was  certain  the  elder  sister  was  completely  in 
the  dark  as  to  any  thing  going  to  happen  in  the  family. 

Could  it  be  a  wedding?  Could  Miss  Selina  really  love, 
and  be  intending  to  marry,  that  horrid  little  man  ?  For, 
strange  to  say,  this  young  servant  had,  what  many  a 
young  beauty  of  rank  and  fashion  has  not,  or  has  lost  for- 
ever— the  true,  pure,  womanly  creed,  that  loving  and  mar- 
rying are  synonymous  terms;  that  to  let  a  man  put  his 
arm  round  your  waist  when  you  do  not  intend  to  marry 
him,  or  to  intend  to  marry  him  for  money  or  any  thing 
else  when  you  do  rrot  really  love  him,  are  things  quite  im- 
possible and  incredible  to  any  womanly  mind.  A  creed 
somewhat  out  of  date,  and  perhaps  existing  only  in  stray 
nooks  of  the  world  ;  but,  thank  God  !  it  does  exist.  Hila- 
ry had  it,  and  she  had  taught  it  to  Elizabeth. 

"I  wonder  whether  Miss  Hilary  knows  of  this?  I  won- 
der what  she,  would  say  to  it  ?" 

And  now  arose  the  perplexing  ethical  question  aforesaid 
as  to  whether  Elizabeth  ought  to  tell  her. 

It  was  one  of  Miss  Hilary's  doctrines — the  same  for  the 
kitchen  as  the  parlor,  nay,  preached  strongest  in  the  kitch- 
en, where  the  mysteries  of  the  parlor  are  often  so  cruelly 
exposed  —  that  a  secret  accidentally  found  out  should  be 
kept  as  sacred  as  if  actually  confided;  also,  that  the  secret 
of  an  enemy  should  no  more  be  betrayed  than  that  of  a 
beloved  and  trusting  friend. 

"Miss  Selina  isn't  my  enemy,"  smiled  Elizabeth,  "but 
I'm  not  overfond  of  her,  and  so  I'd  rather  not  tell  of  her, 
or  vex  her  if  I  can  help  it.  Anyhow,  I'll  keep  it  to  my- 
eelfforabit." 

But  the  secret  weighed  heavily  upon  her,  and,  besides, 


148  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

her  honest  heart  felt  a  certain  diminution  of  respect  foi 
Miss  Selina.  What  could  she  see  to  like  in  that  common- 
looking,  commonplace  man,  whom  she  could  not  have  met 
a  dozen  times,  of  whose  domestic  life  she  knew  nothing, 
and  whose  personality  Elizabeth,  with  the  sharp  observa- 
tion often  found  in  her  class,  probably  because  coarse  peo- 
ple do  not  care  to  hide  their  coarseness  from  servants,  had 
fcptedily  set  down  at  her  own  valuation — "Neither  carriage 
nor  horses,  nor  nothing,  will  ever  make  him  a  gentleman  !" 

He,  however,  sent  Miss  Selina  home  magnificently  in  the 
said  carriage  ;  Ascott  with  her,  who  had  been  picked  up 
somewhere  in  the  City,  and  who  came  into  his  dinner  with- 
out the  slightest  reference  to  going  "  out  of  town." 

But  in  spite  of  her  Lord  Mayor's  Show,  and  the  great 
attention  which  she  said  she  had  received  from  a  various 
members  of  the  Common  Council  of  the  City  of  London," 
Miss  Selina  was,  for  her,  meditative,  and  did  not  talk  quite 
so  much  as  usual.  There  was  in  the  little  parlor  an  un- 
comfortable atmosphere,  as  if  all  of  them  had  something 
on  their  minds.  Hilary  felt  the  ice  must  be  broken,  and 
if  she  did  not  do  it  nobody  else  would.  So  she  said,  steal- 
ing her  hand  into  Johanna's,  under  shelter  of  the  dim  fire* 
light, 

"  Selina,  I  wanted  to  have  a  little  family  consultation. 
I  have  just  received  an  offer." 

"  An  offer !"  repeated  Miss  Selina,  with  a  visible  start. 
"  Oh,  I  forgot ;  you  went  to  see  your  friend,  Miss  Balquid- 
der,  this  morning.  Did  you  get  any  thing  out  of  her? 
Has  she  any  nephews  and  nieces  wanting  a  governess  ?" 

"She  has  no  relations  at  all.  But  I  will  just  tell  you 
the  story  of  my  visit." 

"I  hope  it's  interesting,"  said  Ascott,  who  was  lying  on 
the  sofa,  half  asleep,  his  general  habit  after  dinner.  He 
woke,  however,  during  his  Aunt  Hilary's  relation,  and 
when  she  reached  its  climax,  that  the  offer  was  for  her  to 
manage  a  stationer's  shop, he  burst  out, heartily  laughing: 

"  Well,  that  is  a  rich  idea.  I'll  come  and  buy  of  you. 
You'll  look  so  pretty  standing  behind  a  counter." 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  140 

But  Selina  said,  angrily,  "  You  can  not  even  think  of 
such  a  thing.  It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  family." 

"No,"  said  Hilary,  clasping  tightly  her  eldest  sister's 
ha.nd — they  two  had  already  talked  the  matter  over,  "I 
can  not  see  any  disgrace.  If  our  family  is  so  poor  that 
the  women  must  earn  their  living  as  well  as  the  men,  all 
we  have  to  see  is  that  it  should  be  honestly  earned.  What 
do  you  say,  Ascott  ?" 

She  looked  earnestly  at  him ;  she  wanted  sorely  to  find 
out  what  he  really  thought. 

But  Ascott  took  it,  as  he  did  every  thing,  very  easily. 
"  I  don't  see  why  Aunt  Selina  should  make  such  a  fuss. 
Why  need  you  do  any  thing,  Aunt  Hilary  ?  Can't  we 
hold  out  a  little  longer,  and  live  upon  tick  till  I  get  into 
practice  ?  Of  course,  I  shall  then  take  care  of  you  all ;  I'm 
the  head  of  the  family.  How  horridly  dark  this  room  is !" 

He  started  up,  and  gave  the  fire  a  fierce  poke,  which 
consumed  in  five  minutes  a  large  lump  of  coal  that  Hilary 
had  hoped — oh,  cruel,  sordid  economy — would  have  lasted 
half  the  evening. 

She  broke  the  uneasy  silence  which  followed  by  asking 
Johanna  to  give  her  opinion. 

Johanna  roused  herself  and  spoke : 

"Ascott  says  right;  he  is  the  head  of  the  family,  and 
by-and-by,  I  trust,  will  take  care  of  us  all.  But  he  is  not 
able  to  do  it  now,  and  meantime  we  must  live." 

"To  be  sure  we  must,  auntie." 

"  I  mean,  my  boy,  we  must  live  honestly ;  we  must  not 
run  into  debt ;"  and  her  voice  sharpened  as  with  the  re- 
flected horror  of  her  young  days — if,  alas  !  there  ever  had 
been  any  youth  for  Henry  Leaf's  eldest  daughter.  "No, 
Ascott,  out  of  debt  out  of  danger.  For  myself" — she  laid 
her  thin  old  fingers  on  his  arm,  and  looked  up  at  him  with 
a  pitiful  mixture  of  reliance  and  hopelessness — "  I  would 
rather  see  you  breaking  stones  in  the  road  than  living  like 
a  gentleman,  as  you  call  it,  and  a  swindler,  as  I  call  it,  upon 
other  people's  money." 

Ascott  sprang  up,  coloring  violently.     "  You  use  strong 


150  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

language,  Aunt  Johanna.  Never  mind.  I  dare  say  you 
are  right.  However,  it's  no  business  of  mine.  Good-night, 
for  I  have  an  engagement." 

Hilary  said,  gravely,  she  wished  he  would  stay  and  join 
in  the  family  consultation. 

"  Oh  no ;  I  hate  talking  over  things.  Settle  it  among 
yourselves.  As  I  said,  it  isn't  my  business." 

"  You  don't  care,  then,  what  becomes  of  us  all  ?  I  some- 
times begin  to  think  so." 

Struck  by  the  tone,  Ascott  stopped  in  the  act  of  putting 
on  his  lilac  kid  gloves.  "  What  have  I  done  ?  I  may  be 
a  very  bad  fellow,  but  I'm  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Aunt 
Hilary." 

"  She  didn't  mean  it,  my  boy,"  said  Aunt  Johanna,  ten- 
derly. 

He  was  moved,  more  by  the  tenderness  than  the  reproach. 
He  came  and  kissed  his  eldest  aunt  in  that  warm-hearted, 
impulsive  way,  which  had  won  him  forgiveness  for  many 
a  boyish  fault.  It  did  so  now. 

"I  know  I'm  not  half  good  enough  to  you,  auntie,  but  I 
mean  to  be.  I  mean  to  work  hard,  and  be  a  rich  man  some 
day,  and  then  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  not  let  my  Aunt 
Hilary  keep  a  shop.  Now  good-night,  for  I  must  meet  a 
fellow  on  business — really  business — that  may  turn  out 
good  for  us  all,  I  assure  you." 

He  went  away  whistling,  with  that  air  of  untroubled, 
good-natured  liveliness  peculiar  to  Ascott  Leaf,  which  made 
them  say  continually  that  he  was  "  only  a  boy,"  living  a 
boy's  life,  as  thoughtless  and  as  free.  When  his  handsome 
face  disappeared  the  three  women  sat  down  again  round 
the  fire. 

They  made  no  comments  on  him  whatever;  they  were 
women,  and  he  was  their  own.  But — passing  him  over  as 
if  he  had  never  existed — Hilary  began  to  explain  to  her 
sisters  all  particulars  of  her  new  scheme  for  maintaining 
the  family.  She  told  these  details  in  a  matter-of-fact  way, 
as  already  arranged,  and  finally  hoped  Selina  would  make 
no  more  objections. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"  It  is  a  thing  quite  impossible,"  said  Selina,  with  dig- 
nity. 

"  Why  impossible  ?  1  can  certainly  do  the  work,  and  it 
can  not  make  me  less  of  a  lady.  Besides,  we  had  better 
not  be  ladies  if  we  can  not  be  honest  ones.  And,  Selina, 
wbere  is  the  money  to  come  from?  We  have  none  in  the 
house;  we  can  not  get  any  till  Christmas." 

"  Opportunities  might  occur.     We  have  friends." 

"  Not  one  in  London — except,  perhaps,  Mr.  Ascott,  and  I 
would  not  ask  him  for  a  farthing.  You  don't  see,  Selina, 
how  horrible  it  would  be  to  be  helped,  unless  by  some  one 
dearly  loved.  I  couldn't  bear  it !  I'd  rather  beg — starve 
— almost  steal !" 

"Don't  be  violent,  child." 

"Oh,  but  it's  hard  !"  and  the  cry  of  long-smothered  pain 
burst  out.  "  Hard  enough  to  have  to  earn  one's  bread  in 
a  way  one  doesn't  like ;  harder  still  to  have  to  be  parted 
from  Johanna  from  Monday  morning  till  Saturday  night. 
But  it  must  be.  I'll  go.  It's  a  case  between  hunger,  debt, 
and  work  ;  the  first  is  unpleasant,  the  second  impossible, 
the  third  is  my  only  alternative.  You  must  consent,  Se- 
lina, for  I  will  do  it." 

"Don't!"  Selina  spoke  more  gently,  and  not  without 
some  natural  emotion.  "Don't  disgrace  me,  child;  for  I 
may  as  well  tell  you — I  meant  to  do  so  to-night — Mr.  As- 
cott has  made  me  an  offer  of  marriage,  and  I — I  have  ac- 
cepted it." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor  at 
No.  15,  its  inmates — that  is,  two  of  them — could  not  have 
been  more  astounded. 

No  doubt  this  surprise  was  a  great  instance  of  simplicity 
on  their  part.  Many  women  would  have  prognosticated, 
planned  the  thing  from  the  first;  thought  it  a  most  excel- 
lent match ;  seen  glor.ious  visions  of  the  house  in  Russell 
Square,  of  the  wealth  and  luxury  that  would  be  the  por- 
tion of  "  dear  Selina,"  and  the  general  benefit  that  the  mar- 
riage would  be  to  the  whole  Leaf  family. 

But  these  two  were  different  from  others.     They  only 


152  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

saw  their  sister  Selina,  a  woman  no  longer  young,  and  not 
without  her  peculiarities,  going  to  be  married,  to  a  man  she 
knew  little  or  nothing  about — a  man  whom  they  themselves 
had  endured  rather  than  liked,  and  for  the  sake  of  grati- 
tude. He  was  trying  enough  merely  as  a  chance  visitor; 
but  to  look  upon  Mr.  Ascott  as  a  brother-in-law,  as  a  hus- 
band— 

**  Oh,  Selina  !  you  can  not  be  in  earnest  ?" 

uWhy  not?  Why  should  I  not  be  married  as  well  as 
my  neighbors  ?"  said  she,  sharply. 

Nobody  arguing  that  point,  both  being,  indeed,  too  be- 
wildered to  argue  at  all,  she  continued,  majestically, 

u  I  assure  you,  sisters,  there  could  not  be  a  more  unex- 
ceptionable offer.  It  is  true,  Mr.  Ascott's  origin  was  rather 
humble ;  but  I  can  overlook  that.  In  his  present  wealth, 
and  with  his  position  and  character,  he  will  make  the  best 
of  husbands." 

Not  a  word  was  answered;  what  could  be  answered? 
Selina  was  free  to  marry  if  she  liked,  and  whom  she  liked. 
Perhaps,  from  her  nature,  it  was  idle  to  expect  her  to  mar- 
ry in  any  other  way  than  this;  one  of  the  thousand  and 
one  unions  where  the  man  desires  a  handsome,  lady-like 
wife  for  the  head  of  his  establishment,  and  the  woman 
wishes  an  elegant  establishment  to  be"  mistress  of;  so 
they  strike  a  bargain — possibly  as  good  as  most  other  bar- 
gains. 

Still,  with  one  faint  lingering  of  hope,  Hilary  asked  if  she 
had  quite  decided. 

"  Quite.  He  wrote  to  me  last  night,  and  I  gave  him  his 
answer  this  morning." 

Selina  certainly  had  not  troubled  any  body  with  her 
"  love  affairs."  It  was  entirely  a  matter  of  business. 

The  sisters  saw  at  once  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind. 
Henceforward  there  could  be  no  criticism  of  Mr.  Peter  As- 
cott. 

Now  all  was  told,  she  talked  freely  of  her  excellent  pros- 
pects. 

"  He  has  behaved  handsomely— very  much  so.    He  makes 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  153 

a  good  settlement  on  me,  and  says  how  happy  he  will  be 
to  help  my  family,  so  as  to  enable  you  always  to  make  a 
respectable  appearance." 

"  We  are  exceedingly  obliged  to  him." 

"  Don't  be  sharp,  Hilary.  He  means  well.  And  he  must 
feel  that  this  marriage  is  a  sort  of — ahem !  condescension 
on  my  part,  which  I  never  should  have  dreamed  of  twenty 
years  ago." 

Selina  sighed:  could  it  be  at  the  thought  of  that  twenty 
years  ago  ?  Perhaps,  shallow  as  she  seemed,  this  woman 
might  once  have  had  some  fancy,  some  ideal  man  whom 
she  expected  to  meet  ancl  in  firry  ;  possibly  a  very  different 
sort  of  man  from  Mr.  Peter  Ascott.  However,  the  sigh  was 
but  momentary  ;  she  plunged  back  again  into  all  the  ar- 
rangements of  her  wedding,  every  one  of  which,  down  to 
the  wedding-dress,  she  had  evidently  decided. 

"And  therefore  you  see,"  she  added,  as  if  the  unimport- 
ant, almost  forgotten  item  of  discussion  had  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her, "it's  quite  impossible  that  my  sister  should 
keep  a  shop.  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Ascott,  and  you  will  see  what 
he  says  to.it." 

But  when  Mr.  Ascott  appeared  next  day  in  solemn  state 
as  an  accepted  lover  he  seemed  to  care  very  little  about 
the  matter.  He  thought  it  was  a  good  thing  for  every 
body  to  be  independent ;  did  not  see  why  young  women — 
he  begged  pardon,  young  ladies — should  not  earn  their 
own  bread  if  they  liked.  He  only  wished  that  the  shop 
were  a  little  farther  off  than  Kensington,  and  hoped  the 
name  of  Leaf  would  not  be  put  over  the  door. 

But  the  bride-elect,  indignant  and  annoyed,  begged  her 
lover  to  interfere,  and  prevent  the  scheme  from  being  car- 
ried out. 

"Don't  vex  yourself,  my  dear  Selina,"  said  he,  dryly— 
how  Hilary  started  to  hear  this  stranger  use  the  household 
name — "  but  I  can't  see  that  it's  my  business  to  interfere. 
I  marry  you  ;  I  don't  marry  your  whole  family." 

"  Mr.  Ascott  is  quite  right ;  we  will  end  the  subject," 
said  Johanna,  with  grave  dignity ;  while  Hilary  sat  with 

Q2 


154  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

burning  cheeks,  thinking  that,  miserable  as  the  family  had 
been,  it  had  never  till  now  known  real  degradation. 

But  her  heart  was  very  sore  that  day.  In  the  morning 
had  come  the  letter  from  India,  never  omitted,  never  de- 
layed ;  Robert  Lyon  was  punctual  as  clock-work  in  every 
thing  he  did.  It  came,  but  this  month  it  was  a  short  and 
somewhat  sad  letter — hinting  of  failing  health,  uncertain 
prospects ;  full  of  a  bitter  longing  to  come  home,  and  a 
dread  that  it  would  be  years  before  that  longing  was  real- 
ized. 

"  My  only  consolation  is,"  he  wrote,  for  once  betraying 
himself  a  little,  "that,  however  hard  my  life  out  here  may 
be,  I  bear  it  alone." 

But  that  consolation  was  not  so  easy  to  Hilary.  That 
they  two  should  be  wasting  their  youth  apart,  when  just 
a  little  heap  of  yellow  coins — of  which  men  like  Mr.  Ascott 
had  such  profusion — would  bring  them  together,  and,  let 
trials  be  many  or  poverty  hard,  give  them  the  unutterable 
joy  of  being  once  more  face  to  face  and  heart  to  heart — 
oh,  it  was  sore — sore  ! 

Yet  when  she  went  up  from  the  parlor,  where  the  newly- 
affianced  couple  sat  together,  "  making-believe"  a  passion 
that  did  not  exist,  and  acting  out  the  sham  courtship,  prop- 
er for  the  gentleman  to  pay  and  the  lady  to  receive — when 
she  shut  her  bedroom  door,  and  there,  sitting  in  the  cold, 
read  again  and  again  Robert  Lyon's  letter  to  Johanna,  so 
good,  so  honest;  so  sad,  yet  so  bravely  enduring — Hilary* 
was  comforted.  She  felt  that  true  love,  in  its  most  unsatis- 
fied longings,  its  most  cruel  delays,  nay,  even  its  sharpest 
agonies  of  hopeless  separation,  is  sweeter  ten  thousand  times 
than  the  most "  respectable"  of  loveless  marriages  such  as 
this. 

So,  at  the  week's  end,  Hilary  went  patiently  to  her  work 
at  Kensington,  and  Selina  began  the  preparations  for  her 
wedding 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  155 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN  relating  so  much  about  her  mistresses,  I  have  lately 
seemed  to  overlook  Elizabeth  Hand. 

She  was  a  person  easy  enough  to  be  overlooked.  She 
never  put  herself  forward,  not  even  now,  when  Miss  Hilary's 
absence  caused  the  weight  of  housekeeping  and  domestic 
management  to  fall  chiefly  upon  her.  She  went  about  her 
duties  as  soberly  and  silently  as  she  had  done  in  her  girl- 
hood; even  Miss  Leaf  could  not  draw  her  into  much  de- 
monstrativeness :  she  was  one  of  those  people  who  never 
"  come  out"  till  they  are  strongly  needed,  and  then —  But 
it  remained  to  be  proved  what  this  girl  wrould  be. 

Years  afterward  Hilary  remembered  with  what  a  curious 
reticence  Elizabeth  used  to  go  about  in  those  days :  how 
she  remained  as  old-fashioned  as  ever ;  acquired  no  London 
ways,  no  fripperies  of  dress  or  flippancies  of  manner.  Also, 
that  she  never  complained  of  any  thing,  though  the  dis- 
comforts of  her  lodging-house  life  must  have  been  great — 
greater  than  her  mistresses  had  any  idea  of  at  the  time. 
Slowly,  out  of  her  rough,  unpliant  girlhood,  was  forming 
that  character  of  self-reliance  and  self-control,  which,  in  all 
ranks,  makes  of  some  women  the  helpers  rather  than  the 
helped,  the  laborers  rather  than  the  pleasure-seekers ;  wom- 
en whose  constant  lot  it  seems  to  be  to  walk  on  the  shad- 
owed side  of  life,  to  endure  rather  than  to  enjoy. 

Elizabeth  had  very  little  actual  enjoyment.  She  made 
no  acquaintances,  and  never  asked  for  holidays.  Indeed, 
she  did  not  seem  to  care  for  any.  Her  great  treat  was 
when,  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  Miss  Hilary  sometimes  took 
her  to  Westminster  Abbey  or  St.  Paul's,  when  her  pleasure 
and  gratitude  always  struck  her  mistress — nay,  even  sooth- 
ed her,  and  won  her  from  her  own  many  anxieties.  It  is 
such  a  blessing  to  be  able  to  make  any  other  human  be« 
ing,  even  for  an  hour  or  two,  entirely  happy  ! 


156  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Except  these  bright  Sundays,  Elizabeth's  whole  time 
was  spent  in  waiting  upon  Miss  Leaf,  who  had  seemed  to 
grow  suddenly  frail  and  old.  It  might  be  that  living 
without  her  child  six  days  out  of  the  seven  was  a  greater 
trial  than  had  at  first  appeared  to  the  elder  sister,  who 
until  now  had  never  parted  with  her  since  she  was  born ; 
or  it  was  perhaps  a  more  commonplace  and  yet  natural 
cause,  the  living  in  London  lodgings,  without  even  a 
change  of  air  from  room  to  room,  and  the  want  of  little 
comforts  and  luxuries,  which,  with  all  Hilary's  care,  were 
as  impossible  as  ever  to  their  limited  means. 

For  Selina's  engagement,  which,  as  a  matter  of  deco- 
rum, she  had  insisted  should  last  six  months,  did  not  less- 
en expenses.  Old  gowns  were  shabby,  and  omnibuses  im- 
possible to  the  future  Mrs.  Ascott  of  Russell  Square ;  and 
though,  to  do  her  justice,  she  spent  as  little  as  to  her  self- 
pleasing  nature  was  possible,  still  she  spent  something. 

"It's  the  last;  I  shall  never  cost  you  any  more,"  she 
would  say,  complacently;  and  revert  to  that  question  of 
absorbing  interest,  her  trousseau, -&n  extremely  handsome 
one,  provided  liberally  by  Mr.  Ascott.  Sorely  had  this  ar- 
rangement jarred  upon  the  pride  of  the  Leaf  family ;  yet 
it  was  inevitable.  But  no  personal  favors  would  the  oth- 
er two  sisters  have  accepted  from  Mr.  Ascott,  even  had  he 
offered  them — which  he  did  not — save  a  dress  each  for  the 
marriage,  and  a  card  for  the  marriage-breakfast,  which,  he 
also  arranged,  was  to  take  place  at  a  hotel. 

So,  in  spite  of  the  expected  wedding,  there  was  little 
change  in  the  dull  life  that  went  on  at  No.  15.  Its  only 
brightness  was  when  Miss  Hilary  came  home  from  Satur- 
day to  Monday.  And  in  those  brief  glimpses,  when,  as 
was  natural,  she  on  her  side,  and  they  on  theirs,  put  on 
their  best  face,  so  to  speak,  each  trying  to  hide  from  the 
other  any  special  care,  it  so  fell  out  that  Miss  Hilary  nev- 
er discovered  a  thing  which,  week  by  week,  Elizabeth  re- 
solved to  speak  to  her  about,  and  yet  never  could.  For  it 
was  not  her  own  affair;  it  seemed  like  presumptuously 
meddling  in  the  affairs  of  the  family.  Above  all.  it  in- 


MISTEESS  >ND   MAID.  157 

volved  the  necessity  of  something  which  looked  like  tale- 
bearing and  backbiting  of  a  person  she  disliked,  and  there 
was  iu  Elizabeth — servant  as  she  was — an  instinctive  chiv- 
alrous honor  which  made  her  especially  anxious  to  be  just 
to  her  enemies. 

Enemy,  however,  is  a  large  word  to  use ;  and  yet  day  by 
day  her  feelings  grew  more  bitter  toward  the  person  con- 
cerned— namely,  Mr.  Ascott  Leaf.  It  was  not  from  any 
badness  in  him :  he  was  the  sort  of  young  man  always  like- 
ly to  be  a  favorite  with  what  would  be  termed  his  "  infe- 
riors;" easy,  good-tempered,  and  gentlemanly,  giving  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  certainly,  but  giving  it  so  agreeably 
that  few  servants  would  have  grumbled,  and  paying  for  it 
— as  he  apparently  thought  every  thing  could  be  paid  for 
—  with  a  pleasant  word  and  a  handful  of  silver. 

But  Elizabeth's  distaste  for  him  had  deeper  roots.  The 
principal  one  was  his  exceeding  indifference  to  his  aunts' 
affairs,  great  and  small,  from  the  marriage,  which  he  briefly 
designated  as  a  "jolly  lark,"  to  the  sharp  economies  which-, 
even  with  the  addition  of  Miss  Hilary's  salary,  were  gull 
requisite.  None  of  these  latter  did  he  ever  seem  to  no- 
tice, except  when  they  pressed  upon  himself;  when  he  nei- 
ther scolded  nor  argued,  but  simply  went  out  and  avoided 
them. 

He  was  now  absent  from  home  more  than  ever,  and  ap- 
parently tried  as  much  as  possible  to  keep  the  household 
in  the  dark  as  to  his  movements — leaving  at  uncertain 
times,  never  saying  what  hour  he  would  be  back,  or  if  lie 
said  so,  never  keeping  to  his  word.  This  was  the  more  an- 
noying, as  there  were  a  number  of  people  continually  in- 
quiring for  him,  hanging  about  the  house,  and  waiting  to 
see  him  "  on  business ;"  and  some  of  these  occasionally 
commented  on  the  young  gentleman  in  such  unflattering 
terms  that  Elizabeth  was  afraid  they  would  reach  the  ear 
of  Mrs.  Jones,  and  henceforward  tried  always  to  attend  to 
the  door  herself. 

But  Mrs.  Jones  was  a  wide-awake  woman.  She  had  not 
let  lodgings  for  thirty  years  for  nothing.  Ere  long  she 


158  MISTIIESS  ^A.ND   MAID. 

discovered,  and  took  good  care  to  inform  Elizabeth  of  her 
discovery,  that  Mr.  Ascott  Leaf  was  what  is  euphuistically 
termed  "  in  difficulties." 

And  here  one  word,  lest  in  telling  this  poor  lad's  story  I 
may  be  supposed  to  tell  it  harshly  or  uncharitably,  as  if 
there  was  no  crime  greater  than  that  which  a  large  por- 
tion of  society  seems  to  count  as  none;  as  if,  at  the  merest 
mention  of  the  ugly  word  debt,  this  rabid  author  flew  out, 
and  made  all  the  ultra-virtuous  persons  whose  history  is 
here  told  fly  out  like  turkeys  after  a  bit  of  red  cloth,  which 
is  a  very  harmless  scrap  of  red  cloth  after  all. 

Most  true,  some  kind  of  debt  deserves  only  compassion. 
The  merchant  suddenly  failing ;  the  tenderly  reared  fam- 
ily who  by  some  strange  blunder  or  unkind  kindness  have 
been  kept  in  ignorance  of  their  real  circumstances,  and  been 
spending  pounds  for  which  there  was  only  pence  to  pay; 
the  individuals,  men  or  women,  who,  without  any  laxity  of 
principle,  are  such  utter  children  in  practice  that  they  have 
to  learn  the  value  and  use  of  money  by  hard  experience, 
much  as  a  child  does,  and  are  little  better  than  children  in 
all  that  concerns  L.  s.  D.  to  the  end  of  their  days. 

But  these  are  debtors  by  accident,  not  error.  The  de- 
liberate debtor,  who  orders  what  he  knows  he  has  no  means 
of  paying  for;  the  pleasure-loving  debtor,  who  can  not  re- 
nounce one  single  luxury  for  conscience'  sake;  the  well- 
meaning,  lazy  debtor,  who  might  make  *'  ends  meet,"  but 
does  not,  simply  because  he  will  not  take  the  trouble ;  upon 
such  as  these  it  is  right  to  have  no  mercy — they  deserve 
none. 

To  which  of  these  classes  young  Ascott  Leaf  belonged 
his  story  will  show.  I  tell  it,  or  rather  let  it  tell  itself,  and 
point  its  own  moral;  it  is  the  story  of  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands. 

That  a  young  fellow  should  not  enjoy  his  youth  would  be 
hard;  that  it  should  not  be  pleasant  to  him  to  dress  well, 
live  well,  and  spend  with  open  hand  upon  himself  as  well  as 
others,  no  one  will  question.  No  one  would  ever  wish  it 
otherwise.  Many  a  kindly  spendthrift  of  twenty-one  makes 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  159 

a  prudent  paterfamilias  at  forty,  while  a  man  who  in  his 
twenties  showed  a  purposeless  niggardliness,  would  at  six- 
ty grow  into  the  most  contemptible  miser  alive.  There  is 
something  even  in  the  thoughtless  liberality  of  youth  to 
which  one's  heart  warms,  even  while  one's  wisdom  reproves. 
But  what  struck  Elizabeth  was  that  Ascott's  liberalities 
were  always  toward  himself,  and  himself  only. 

Sometimes  when  she  took  in  a  parcel  of  new  clothes, 
while  others  yet  unpaid  for  were  tossing  in  wasteful  disor- 
der about  his  room,  or  when  she  cleaned  indefinite  pairs  of 
handsome  boots,  and  washed  dozens  of  the  finest  cambric 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  her  spirit  grew  hot  within  her  to  re- 
member Miss  Hilary's  countless  wants  and  contrivances  in 
the  matter  of  dress,  and  all  the  little  domestic  comforts 
which  Miss  Leaf's  frail  health  required — things  which  nev- 
er once  seemed  to  cross  the  nephew's  imagination.  Of 
course  not,  it  will  be  said  ;  how  could  a  young  man  be  ex- 
pected to  trouble  himself  about  these  things  ? 

But  they  do,  though.  Answer,  many  a  widow's  son; 
many  a  heedful  brother  of  orphan  sisters ;  many  a  solitary 
clerk  living  and  paying  his  way  upon  the  merest  pittance ; 
is  it  not  better  to  think  of  others  than  one's  self?  Can  a 
man,  even  a  young  man,  find  his  highest  happiness  in  mere 
personal  enjoyment  ? 

However,  let  me  cease  throwing  these  pebbles  of  preach- 
ing under  the  wheels  of  my  story ;  as  it  moves  on  it  will 
preach  enough  for  itself. 

Elizabeth's  annoyances,  suspicions,  and  conscience-pricks 
as  to  whether  she  ought  or  ought  not  to  communicate  both, 
came  to  an  end  at  last.  Gradually  she  made  up  her  mind 
that,  even  if  it  did  look  like  tale-bearing,  on  the  following 
Saturday  night  Miss  Hilary  must  know  all. 

It  was  an  anxious  week,  for  Miss  Leaf  had  fallen  ill.  Not 
seriously;  and  she  never  complained  until  her  sister  had 
left,  when  she  returned  to  her  bed  and  did  not  again  rise. 
She  would  not  have  Miss  Hilary  sent  for,  nor  Miss  Selina, 
who  was  away  paying  a  ceremonious  prenuptial  visit  to 
Mr.  Ascott's  partner's  wife  at  Dulwich. 


160  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"  I  don't  want  any  thing  that  you  can  not  do  for  me. 
You  are  becoming  a  first-rate  nurse,  Elizabeth,"  she  said, 
with  that  passive,  peaceful  smile  which  almost  frightened 
the  girl ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  slipping  away  from  this 
world  and  all  its  cares  into  another  existence.  Elizabeth 
felt  that  to  tell  her  any  thing  about  her  nephew's  affairs 
was  perfectly  impossible.  How  thankful  she  was  that  in 
the  quiet  of  the  sick-room  her  mistress  was  kept  in  igno- 
rance of  the  knocks  and  inquiries  at  the  door,  and  espe- 
cially of  a  certain  ominous  paper  which  had  fallen  into  Mrs. 
Jones's  hands,  and  informed  her,  as  she  took  good  care  to 
inform  Elizabeth,  that  any  day  "the  bailiffs"  might  be  aft- 
er her  young  master. 

"  And  the  sooner  the  whole  set  of  you  clear  out  of  my 
house  the  better ;  I  am  a  decent,  respectable  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Jones,  that  very  morning ;  and  Elizabeth  had  had  to 
beg  her  as  a  favor  not  to  disturb  her  sick  mistress,  but  to 
wait  one  day,  till  Miss  Hilary  came  home. 

Also,  when  Ascott,  ending  with  a  cheerful  and  careless 
countenance  his  ten  minutes'  after -breakfast  chat  in  his 
aunt's  room,  had  met  Elizabeth  on  the  staircase,  he  had 
stopped  to  bid  her  say  if  any  body  wanted  him  he  was 
gone  to  Birmingham,  and  would  ncft  be  home  till  Monday. 
And  on  Elizabeth's  hesitating,  she  having  determined  to 
tell  no  more  of  these  involuntary  lies,  he  had  been  very 
angry,  and  then  stooped  to  entreaties,  begging  her  to  do  as 
he  asked,  or  it  would  be  the  ruin  of  him — which  she  under- 
stood well  enough  when,  all  the  day,  she — grown  painful- 
ly wise,  poor  girl ! — watched  a  Jewish-looking  man  hang 
ing  about  the  house,  and  noticing  every  body  that  went  in 
or  out  of  it. 

Now,  sitting  at  Miss  Leaf's  window,  she  fancied  she  saw 
this  man  disappear  into  the  gin-palace  opposite,  and  at  the 
same  moment  a  figure  darted  hurriedly  round  the  street- 
corner  and  into  the  door  of  No.  15. 

Elizabeth  looked  to  see  if  her  mistress  were  asleep,  and 
then  crept  quietly  out  of  the  room,  shutting  the  door  after 
her.  Listening,  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  latch-key,  and 
of  some  one  corning  stealthily  up  stairs. 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  161 

"  Hollo  !     Oh,  it's  only  you,  Elizabeth." 

"Shall  I  light  your  candle,  sir?" 

But  when  she  did  the  sight  was  not  pleasant.  Drenched 
with  rain,  his  collar  pulled  up,  and  his  hat  slouched,  so  as 
in  some  measure  to  act  as  a  disguise,  breathless  and  trem- 
bling— hardly  any  body  would  have  recognized  in  this  dis- 
creditable object  that  gentlemanly  young  man,  Mr.  Ascott 
Leaf. 

He  staggered  into  his  room  and  threw  himself  across  the 
bed. 

"Do  you  want  any  thing,  sir?"  said  Elizabeth,  from  the 
door. 

"  No — yes — stay  a  minute.  Elizabeth,  are  you  to  be 
trusted?"* 

"  I  hope  I  am,  sir." 

"  The  bailiffs  are  after  me.  I've  just  dodged  them.  If 
they  know  I'm  here  the  game's  all  up — and  it  will  kill  my 
aunt." 

Shocked  as  she  was,  Elizabeth  was  glad  to  hear  him  say 
that — glad  to  see  the  burst  of  emotion  with  which  he  flung 
himself  down  on  the  pillow,  muttering  all  sorts  of  hopeless 
self-accusations. 

"  Come,  sir,  'tis  no  use  taking  on  so,"  said  she,  much  as 
she  would  have  spoken  to  a  child,  for  there  was  something 
childish  rather  than  manlike  in  Ascott's  distress.  Never- 
theless, she  pitied  him  writh  the  unreasoning  pity  a  kind 
heart  gives  to  any  creature  who,  blameworthy  or  not,  has 
fallen  into  trouble.  "  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?" 

"  Nothing.  I'm  cleaned  out.  And  I  haven't  a  friend  in 
the  world." 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  in  perfect  despair. 

Elizabeth  tried  hard  not  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  what 
the  Catechism  would  call  her  "betters,"  and  yet  her  own 
strong  instinct  of  almost  indefinite  endurance  turned  with 
something  approaching  contempt  from  this  weak,  light- 
some nature,  broken  by  the  first  touch  of  calamity. 

"Come,  it's  no  use  making  things  worse  than  they  are. 
If  nobody  knows  that  you  are  here,  lock  your  door  and 


162  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

keep  quiet.  I'll  bring  you  some  dinner  when  I  bring  up 
missis's  tea,  and  not  even  Mrs.  Jones  will  be  any  the 
wiser." 

"  You're  a  brick,  Elizabeth — a  regular  brick  !"  cried  the 
young  fellow,  brightening  up  at  the  least  relief.  "That 
will  be  capital.  Get  me  a  good  slice  of  beef,  or  ham,  or 
something.  And,  mind  you  —  don't  forget !  —  a  regular 
stunning  bottle  of  pale  ale." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

The  acquiescence  was  somewhat  sullen,  and,  had  he 
watched  Elizabeth's  face,  he  might  have  seen  there  an  ex- 
pression not  too  flattering.  But  she  faithfully  brought 
him  his  dinner,  and  kept  his  secret,  even  though,  hearing 
from  over  the  staircase  Mrs.  Jones  resolutely  deny  that 
Mr.  Leaf  had  been  at  home  since  morning,  she  felt  very 
much  as  if  she  were  conniving  at  a  lie.  With  a  painful, 
half-guilty  consciousness,  she  waited  for  her  mistress's  usu- 
al question,  "Is  my  nephew  come  home?"  but  fortunately 
it  was  not  asked.  Miss  Leaf  lay  quiet  and  passive,  and  her 
faithful  nurse  settled  her  for  the  night  with  a  strangely 
solemn  feeling,  as  if  she  were  leaving  her  to  her  last  rest, 
safe  and  at  peace  before  the  overhanging  storm  broke  upon 
the  family. 

But  all  shadow  of  this  storm  seemed  to  have  passed 
away  from  him  who  was  its  cause.  As  soon  as  the  house 
was  still  Ascott  crept  down  and  fell  to  his  supper  with  as 
good  an  appetite  as  possible.  He  even  became  free  and 
conversational. 

"  Don't  look  so  glum,  Elizabeth.  I  shall  soon  weather 
through.  Old  Ascott  will  fork  out ;  he  couldn't  help  it. 
I'm  to  be  his  nephew,  you  know.  Oh,  that  was  a  clever 
catch  of  Aunt  Selina's.  If  only  Aunt  Hilary  would  try 
another  like  it." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I'm  going  to  bed." 

"  Off  with  you,  then,  and  I'll  not  forget  the  gown  at 
Christmas.  You're  a  sharp  young  woman,  and  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you."  And  for  a  moment  he  looked  as  if  he 
were  about  to  make  the  usual  unmannerly  acknowledg- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  163 

merit  of  civility  from  a  young  gentleman  to  a  servant- 
maid,  viz.,  kissing  her,  but  he  pulled  a  face  and  drew  back. 
He  really  couldn't ;  she  was  so  very  plain. 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  violent  ring,  and  "Fire  l" 
was  shouted  through  the  keyhole  of  the  door.  Terrified, 
Elizabeth  opened  it,  when,  with  a  burst  of  laughter,  a  man 
rushed  in  and  laid  hands  upon  Ascott. 

It  was  the  sheriff's  officer. 

When  his  trouble  came  upon  him  Ascott's  manliness 
returned.  He  turned  very  white,  but  he  made  no  opposi- 
tion; had  even  enough  of  his  wits  about  him — or  some- 
thing better  than  wits — to  stop  Mrs.  Jones  from  rushing 
up  in  alarm  and  indignation  to  arouse  Miss  Leaf. 

"No;  she'll  know  it  quite  soon  enough.  Let  her  sleep 
till  morning.  Elizabeth,  look  here."  He  wrote  upon  a  card 
the  address  of  the  place  he  was  to  be  taken  to.  "  Give 
Aunt  Hilary  this.  Say  if  she  can  think  of  a  way  to  get  me 
out  of  this  horrid  mess ;  but  I  don't  deserve — Never  mind. 
Come  on,  you  fellows." 

He  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  jumped  into  the  cab,  and 
was  gone.  The  whole  thing  had  not  occupied  five  min- 
utes. 

Stupefied,  Elizabeth  stood  and  considered  what  was  best 
to  be  done.  Miss  Hilary  must  be  told  ;  but  how  to  get  at 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  thereby  leaving  her  mistress 
to  the  mercy  of  Mrs.  Jones.  It  would  never  do.  Sudden- 
ly she  thought  of  Miss  Balquidder.  She  might  send  a 
message.  No,  not  a  message — for  the  family  misery  and 
disgrace  must  not  be  betrayed  to  a  stranger — but  a  letter 
to  Kensington. 

With  an  effort  Elizabeth  composed  herself  sufficiently 
to  write  one — her  first — to  her  dear  Miss  Hilary. 

"HONORED  MADAM, — Mr.  Leaf  has  got  himself  into  trou- 
ble, and  is  taken  away  somewhere  ;  and  I  dare  not  tell  mis- 
sis ;  and  I  wish  you  was  at  home,  as  she  is  not  well,  but 
better  than  she  has  been,  and  she  shall  know  nothing  about 
it  till  you  come.  Your  obedient  and  affectionate  servant, 

"ELIZABETH  HAND." 


164  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Taking  Ascott's  latch-key,  she  quitted  the  house  and 
slipped  out  into  the  dark  night,  almost  losing  her  way 
among  the  gloomy  squares,  where  she  met  not  a  creature 
except  the  solitary  policeman  plashing  steadily  along  the 
wet  pavement.  When  he  turned  the  glimmer  of  his  bull's- 
eye  upon  her  she  started  like  a  guilty  creature  till  she  re- 
membered that  she  really  was  doing  nothing  wrong,  aiid 
so  need  not  be  afraid  of  any  thing.  This  was  her  simple 
creed,  which  Miss  Hilary  had  taught  her,  and  it  upheld  her, 
even  till  she  knocked  at  Miss  Balquidder's  door. 

There,  poor  girl,  her  heart  sank,  especially  when  Miss 
Balquidder,  in  an  anomalous  costume  and  a  severe  voice, 
opened  the  door  herself,  and  asked  who  was  there,  disturb- 
ing a  respectable  family  at  this  late  hour. 

Elizabeth  answered,  what  she  had  before  determined  to 
say,  as  sufficiently  explaining  her  errand,  and  yet  betray- 
ing nothing  that  her  mistress  might  wish  concealed. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I'm  Miss  Leaf's  servant.  My  missis  is 
ill,  and  I  want  a  letter  sent  at  once  to  Miss  Hilary." 

"  Oh  !  come  in,  then.     Elizabeth,  I  think,  your  name  is  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  What  made  you  leave  home  at  this  hour  of  the  night? 
Did  your  mistress  send  you  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Is  she  so  very  ill  ?  It  seems  sudden.  I  saw  Miss  Hi- 
lary to-day,  and  she  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it." 

Elizabeth  shrank  a  little  before  the  keen  eye  that  seemed 
to  read  her  through. 

"  There's  more  amiss  than  you  have  told  me,  young  wom- 
an. Is  it  because  your  mistress  is  in  serious  danger  that 
you  want  to  send  for  her  sister  ?" 

"  No." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  You  had  better  tell  me  at  once.  I 
hate  concealment." 

It  was  a  trial ;  but  Elizabeth  held  her  ground. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am ;  but  I  don't  think  missis 
would  like  any  body  to  know,  and  therefore  I'd  rather  not 
tell  you." 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  165 

Now  the  honest  Scotswoman,  as  she  said,  hated  any  thing 
underhand,  but  she  respected  the  right  of  every  human  be- 
ing to  maintain  silence  if  necessary.  She  looked  sharply 
in  Elizabeth's  face,  which  apparently  reassured  her,  for  she 
said,  not  unkindly, 

"  Very  well,  child,  keep  your  mistress's  secrets  by  all 
means.  Only  tell  me  what  you  want.  Shall  I  take  a  cab 
and  fetch  Miss  Hilary  at  once  ?" 

Elizabeth  thanked  her,  but  said  she  thought  that  would 
not  do;  it  would  be  better  just  to  send  the  note  the  first 
thing  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  Miss  Hilary  would 
come  home  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  Miss  Leaf 
would  not  be  frightened  by  her  sudden  appearance. 

"You  are  a  good,  mindful  girl,"  said  Miss  Balquidder. 
"  How  did  you  learn  to  be  so  sensible  ?" 

At  the  kindly  word  and  manner,  Elizabeth,  bewildered 
and  exhausted  with  the  excitement  she  had  gone  through, 
and  agitated  by  the  feeling  of  having,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  to  act  on  her  own  responsibility,  gave  way  a  little. 
She  did  not  actually  cry,  but  she  was  very  near  it. 

Miss  Balquidder  called  over  the  stair-head,  in  her  quick, 
imperative  voice, 

"David,  is  your  wife  away  to  her  bed  yet?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Then  tell  her  to  fetch  this  young  woman  to  the  kitchen 
and  give  her  some  supper.  And  afterward,  will  you  see 
her  safe  home,  poor  lassie  ?  She's  awfully  tired,  you  see." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

And  following  David's  gray  head,  Elizabeth,  for  the  first 
time  since  she  came  to  London,  took  a  comfortable  meal  in 
a  comfortable  kitchen,  seasoned  with  such  stories  of  Miss 
Balquidder's  goodness  and  generosity,  that  when,  an  hour 
after,  she  went  home  and  to  sleep,  it  was  with  a  quieter 
and  more  hopeful  spirit  than  she  could  have  believed  pos- 
sible under  the  circumstances. 


166  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

NEXT  morning,  while  with  that  cheerful,  unanxious  coun- 
tenance which  those  about  an  invalid  must  learn  continual- 
ly to  wear,  Elizabeth  was  trying  to  persuade  her  mistress 
not  to  rise,  she  heard  a  knock,  and  made  some  excuse  for 
escaping.  She  well  knew  what  it  was,  and  who  had  come. 

There,  in  the  parlor,  sat  Miss  Hilary,  Mrs.  Jones  talking 
at  her  rather  than  to  her,  for  she  hardly  seemed  to  hear. 
But  that  she  had  heard  every  thing  was  clear  enough. 
Her  drawn  white  face,  the  tight  clasp  of  her  hands,  show- 
ed that  the  ill  tidings  had  struck  her  hard. 

"  Go  away,  Mrs.  Jones,"  cried  Elizabeth,  fiercely.  "  Miss 
Hilary  will  call  when  she  wants  you." 

And  with  an  ingenious  movement  that  just  fell  short  of 
a  push,  somehow  the  woman  was  got  on  the  other  side  of 
the  parlor  door,  which  Elizabeth  immediately  shut.  Then 
Miss  Hilary  stretched  her  hands  across  the  table  and  look- 
ed up  piteously  in  her  servant's  face. 

Only  a  servant;  only  that  poor  servant  to  whom  she 
could  look  for  any  comfort  in  this  sore  trouble,  this  bitter 
humiliation.  There  was  no  attempt  at  disguise  or  conceal- 
ment between  mistress  and  maid. 

"Mrs.  Jones  has  told  me  every  thing,  Elizabeth.  How 
is  my  sister?  She  does  not  know?" 

"  No ;  and  I  think  she  is  a  good  deal  better  this  morning. 
She  has  been  very  bad  all  week ;  only  she  would  not  let  me 
send  for  you.  She  is  really  getting  well  now ;  I'm  sure  of 
that." 

"  Thank  God  !"     And  then  Miss  Hilary  began  to  weep. 

Elizabeth  also  was  thankful,  even  for  the  tears,  for  she 
had  been  perplexed  by  the  hard,  dry-eyed  look  of  misery, 
deeper  than  any  thing  she  could  comprehend,  or  than  the 
circumstances  seemed  to  warrant. 

It  was  deeper.     The  misery  was  not  only  Ascott's  ar- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  167 

rest;  many  a  lad  has  got  into  debt  and  got  out  again — 
the  first  taste  of  the  law  proving  a  warning  to  him  for  life ; 
but  it  was  this  ominous  "  beginning  of  the  end."  The  fatal 
end — which  seemed  to  overhang  like  a  hereditary  cloud,  to 
taint  as  with  hereditary  disease,  the  Leaf  family. 

Another  bitterness  (and  who  shall  blame  it,  for  when 
love  is  really  love,  have  not  the  lovers  a  right  to  be  one 
another's  first  thought?) — what  would  Robert  Lyon  say? 
To  his  honest  Scotch  nature  poverty  was  nothing ;  honor 
every  thing.  She  knew  his  horror  of  debt  was  even  equal 
to  her  own.  This,  and  her  belief  in  his  freedom  from  all 
false  pride,  had  sustained  her  against  many  doubts  lest  he 
might  think  the  less  of  her  because  of  her  present  position 
— might  feel  ashamed  could  he  see  her  sitting  at  her  ledger 
in  that  high  desk,  or  even  occasionally  serving  in  the  shop. 

Many  a  time  things  she  would  have  passed  over  lightly  on 
her  own  account  she  had  felt  on  his ;  felt  how  they  would 
annoy  and  vex  him.  The  exquisitely  natural  thought  which 
Tennyson  has  put  into  poetry — 

4 '  If  I  am  dear  to  some  one  else, 
Then  I  should  be  to  myself  more  dear" — 

had  often  come,  prosaically  enough  perhaps,  into  her  head, 
and  prevented  her  from  spoiling  her  little  hands  with  un- 
necessarily rough  work,  or  carelessly  passing  down  ill 
streets  and  by-ways,  where  she  knew  Robert  Lyon,  had  he 
been  in  London,  would  never  have  allowed  her  to  go.  Now 
what  did  such  things  signify?  What  need  of  taking  care 
of  herself?  These  were  all  superficial,  external  disgraces; 
the  real  disgrace  was  within.  The  plague-spot  had  burst 
out  anew;  it  seemed  as  if  this  day  were  the  recommence- 
ment of  that  bitter  life  of  penury,  misery,  and  humiliation, 
familiar  through  three  generations  to  the  women  of  the 
Leaf  family. 

It  appeared  like  a  fate.  No  use  to  try  and  struggle  out 
of  it,  stretching  her  arms  up  to  Robert  Lyon's  tender,  hon- 
est, steadfast  heart,  there  to  be  sheltered,  taken  care  of,  and 
made  happy.  No  happiness  for  her !  Nothing  but  to  go 
on  enduring  and  enduring  to  the  end, 


168  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Such  was  Hilary's  first  emotion:  morbid  perhaps,  yet 
excusable.  It  might  have  lasted  longer — though  in  her 
healthy  nature  it  could  not  have  lasted  very  long — had  not 
the  reaction  come,  suddenly  and  completely,  by  the  open- 
ing of  the  parlor  door  and  the  appearance  of  Miss  Leaf. 

Miss  Leaf —  pale,  indeed,  but  neither  alarmed  nor  agi- 
tated, who,  hearing  somehow  that  her  child  had  arrived, 
had  hastily  dressed  herself  and  come  down  stairs  in  order 
not  to  frighten  Hilary.  And  as  she  took  her  in  her  arms, 
and  kissed  her  with  those  mother-like  kisses,  wrhich  were 
the  sweetest  Hilary  had  as  yet  ever  known,  the  sharp  an- 
guish went  out  of  the  poor  girl's  heart. 

"  Oh,  Johanna !  I  can  bear  any  thing  as  long  as  I  have 
you." 

And  so  in  this  simple  and  natural  way  the  miserable  se- 
cret about  Ascott  came  out. 

Being  once  out,  it  did  not  seem  half  so  dreadful ;  nor  was 
its  effect  nearly  so  serious  as  Miss  Hilary  and  Elizabeth 
had  feared.  Miss  Leaf  bore  it  wonderfully  ;  she-  might  al- 
most have  known  it  beforehand  ;  they  would  have  thought 
she  had,  but  that  she  said  decidedly  she  had  not. 

."Still  you  need  not  have  minded  telling  me;  though  it 
was  very  good  and  thoughtful  of  you,  Elizabeth.  You  have 
gone  through  a  great  deal  for  our  sakes,  my  poor  girl." 

Elizabeth  burst  into  one  smothered  sob — the  first  and 
the  last, 

"Nay,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  very  kindly,  for  this  unwonted 
emotion  in  their  servant  moved  them  both, "  you  shall  tell 
me  the  rest  another  time.  Go  down  now,  arid  get  Miss 
Hilary  some  breakfast." 

When  Elizabeth  had  departed  the  sisters  turned  to  one 
another.  They  did  not  talk  much  ;  where  was  the  use  of 
it  ?  They  both  knew  the  worst,  both  as  to  facts  and  fears. 

"What  must  be  done,  Johanna ?" 

Johanna,  after  a  long  pause,  said, "  I  see  but  one  thing — 
to  get  him  home." 

Hilary  started  up,  and  walked  to  and  fro  along  the  room. 

"  No,  not  that,     I  will  never  agree  to  it.     We  can  not 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  169 

help  him.  He  does  not  deserve  helping.  If  the  debts  were 
for  food  now,  or  any  necessaries ;  but  for  mere  luxuries — 
mere  fine  clothes :  it  is  his  tailor  who  has  arrested  him,  you 
know.  I  would  rather  have  gone  in  rags  !  I  would  rather 
see  us  all  in  rags !  It's  mean,  selfish,  cowardly,  and  I  de- 
spise him  for  it.  Though  he  is  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  I 
despise  him." 

"Hilary!" 

"  No,"  and  the  tears  burst  from  her  angry  eyes,  "  I  don't 
mean  that  I  despise  him.  I'm  sorry  for  him ;  there  is  good 
in  him,  poor  dear  lad ;  but  I  despise  his  weakness ;  I  feel 
fierce  to  think  how  much  it  will  cost  us  all,  and  especially 
you,  Johanna.  Only  think  what  comforts  of  all  sorts  that 
thirty  pounds  would  have  brought  to  you  !" 

"God  will  provide,"  said  Johanna,  earnestly.  "But  I 
know,  my  dear,  this  is  sharper  to  you  than  to  me.  Besides, 
I  have  been  more  used  to  it." 

She  closed  her  eyes  with  a  half  shudder,  as  if  living  over 
again  the  old  days — when  Henry  Leaf's  wife  and  eldest 
daughter  used  to  have  to  give  dinner-parties  upon  food  that 
stuck  in  their  throats,  as  if  every  morsel  had  been  stolen ; 
which  in  truth  it  was,  and  yet  they  were  helpless,  innocent 
thieves;  when  they  and  the  children  had  to  wear  clothes 
that  seemed  to  poison  them  like  the  shirt  of  Dejanira; 
when  they  durst  not  walk  along  special  streets,  nor  pass 
particular  shops,  for  the  feeling  that  the  shop-people  must 
be  staring,  and  pointing,  and  jibing  at  them,  "  Pay  me  what 
thou  owest !" 

"  But  things  can  not  again  be  so  bad  as  those  days,  Hi- 
lary. Ascott  is  young ;  he  may  mend.  People  can  mend, 
my  child  ;  and  he  had  such  a  different  bringing-tip  from 
what  his  father  had,  and  his  grandfather  too.  We  must 
not  be  hopeless  yet.  You  see" — and,  making  Hilary  kneel 
down  before  her,  she  took  her  by  both  hands,  as  if  to  im- 
part something  of  her  own  quietness  to  this  poor  heart, 
struggling  as  young,  honest,  upright  hearts  do  struggle 
with  something  which  their  whole  nature  revolts  against, 
and  loathes,  and  scorns — "  you  see,  the  boy  is  our  boy  ;  our 

H 


170  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

own  flesh  and  blood.  We  were  very  foolish  to  let  him 
away  from  us  for  so  long.  We  might  have  made  him  bet- 
ter if  we  had  kept  him  at  Stowbury.  But  he  is  young; 
that  is  my  hope  of  him ;  and  he  was  always  fond  of  his 
aunts,  and  is  still,!  think." 

Hilary  smiled  sadly.  "Deeds,  not  words.  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  words." 

"  Well,  let  us  put  aside  believing,  and  only  act.  Let  us 
give  him  another  chance." 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "Another,  and  another,  and  an- 
other— it  will  be  always  the  same.  I  know  it  will.  I  can't 
tell  how  it  is,  Johanna ;  but  whenever  I  look  at  you,  I  feel 
so  stern  and  hard  to  Ascott.  It  seems  as  if  there  were  cir- 
cumstances when  pity  to  some,  to  one,  was  wicked  injus- 
tice to  others ;  as  if  there  were  times  when  it  is  right  and 
needful  to  lop  off,  at  once  and  forever,  a  rotten  branch,  rath- 
er than  let  the  whole  tree  go  to  rack  and  ruin.  I  would 
do  it !  I  should  think  myself  justified  in  doing  it." 

"  But  not  just  yet.     He  is  only  a  boy — our  own  boy." 

And  the  two  women,  in  both  of  whom  the  maternal  pas- 
sion existed  strong  and  deep,  yet  in  the  one  never  had 
found,  and  in  the  other  never  might  find,  its  natural  chan- 
nel, wept  together  over  this  lad,  almost  as  mothers  weep. 

"But  what  can  we  do?"  said  Hilary  at  last.  "Thirty 
pounds,  and  not  a  halfpenny  to  pay  it  with;  must  we  bor- 
row?" 

"  Oh  no — no,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  shrinking  gesture; 
"  no  borrowing.  There  is  the  diamond  ring." 

This  was  a  sort  of  heir-loom  from  eldest  daughter  to  eld- 
est daughter  of  the  Leaf  family,  which  had  been  kept,  even 
as  a  sort  of  superstition,  through  all  temptations  of  pover- 
ty. The  last  time  Miss  Leaf  looked  at  it  she  had  remarked, 
jestingly,  it  should  be  given  some  day  to  that  important 
personage  talked  of  for  many  a  year  among  the  three  aunts 
— Mrs.  Ascott  Leaf. 

"Who  must  do  without  it  now,"  said  Johanna,  looking 
regretfully  at  the  ring ;  "  that  is,  if  he  ever  takes  to  him- 
self a  wife,  poor  boy." 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  171 

Hilary  answered,  beneath  her  breath, "  Unless  he  alters, 
I  earnestly  hope  he  never  may."  And  there  came  over 
her  involuntarily  a  wild,  despairing  thought, Would  it  not 
be  better  that  neither  Ascott  nor  herself  should  ever  be 
married,  that  the  family  might  die  out,  and  trouble  the 
world  no  more  ? 

Nevertheless  she  rose  up  to  do  what  she  knew  had  to  be 
done,  and  what  there  was  nobody  to  do  but  herself. 

"  Don't  mind  it,  Johanna ;  for  indeed  I  do  not.  I  shall 
go  to  a  first-rate,  respectable  jeweler,  and  he  will  not  cheat 
me ;  and  then  I  shall  find  my  way  to  the  sponging-house 
— isn't  that  what  they  call  it?  I  dare  say  many  a  poor 
woman  has  been  there  before  me.  I  am  not  the  first,  and 
shall  not  be  the  last,  and  nobody  will  harm  me.  I  think  I 
look  honest,  though  my  name  is  Leaf." 

She  laughed — a  bitter  laugh;  but  Johanna  silenced  it  in 
a  close  embrace ;  and  when  Hilary  rose  up  again  she  was 
quite  her  natural  self.  She  summoned  Elizabeth,  and  began 
giving  her  all  domestic  directions,  just  as  usual;  finally, 
bade  her  sister  good-by  in  a  tone  as  like  her  usual  tone  as 
possible,  and  left  her  settled ~on  the  sofa  in  content  and 
peace. 

Elizabeth  followed  to  the  door.  Miss  Hilary  had  asked 
her  for  the  card  on  which  Ascott  had  written  the  address 
of  the  place  where  he  had  been  taken  to;  and  though  the 
girl  said  not  a  word,  her  anxious  eyes  made  piteous  inquiry. 

Her  mistress  patted  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Never  mind  about  me ;  I  shall  come  to  no  barm,  Eliza- 
beth." 

"It's  a  bad  place;  such  a  dreadful  place,  Mrs.  Jones 
says."  • 

"Is  it?"  Elizabeth  guessed  part,  not  the  whole  of  the 
feelings  that  made  Hilary  hesitate,  shrink  even,  from  the 
duty  before  her,  turning  first  so  hot,  and  then  so  pale.  Only 
as  a  duty  could  she  have  done  it  at  all.  "  No  matter,  I  must 
go.  Take  care  of  my  sister." 

She  ran  down  the  door-steps,  and  walked  quickly  through 
the  Crescent.  It  was  a  clear,  sunshiny,  frosty  day — such 


172  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

a  day  as  always  both  cheered  and  calmed  her.  She  had, 
despite  all  her  cares,  youth,  health,  energy  ;  and  a  holy  and 
constant  love  lay  like  a  sleeping  angel  in  her  heart.  Must 
I  tell  the  truth,  and  own  that  before  she  had  gone  two 
streets'  length  Hilary  ceased  to  feel  so  very,  very  miserable? 

Love — this  kind  of  love  of  which  I  speak — is  a  wonder- 
ful thing,  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  all  the  world.  The 
strength  it  gives,  the  brightness,  the  actual  happiness,  even 
in  the  hardest  times,  is  often  quite  miraculous.  When  Hi- 
lary sat  waiting  in  the  jeweler's  shop,  she  watched  a  little 
episode  of  high  life — two  wealthy  people  choosing  their 
marriage-plate;  the  bride,  so  careless  and  haughty;  the 
bridegroom,  so  unutterably  mean  to  look  at,  stamped  with 
that  innate  smallness  and  coarseness  of  soul  which  his  tine 
clothes  only  made  more  apparent.  And  she  thought — oh, 
how  fondly  she  thought ! — of  that  honest,  manly  mien  ;  of 
that  true,  untainted  heart,  which,  she  felt  sure,  had  never 
loved  any  woman  but  herself;  of  the  wrarm,  firm  hand, 
carving  its  way  through  the  world  for  her  sake,  and  wait- 
ing patiently  till  it  could  openly  clasp  hers,  and  give  her 
every  thing  it  had  won.  She  would  not  have  exchanged 
him,  Robert  Lyon,  with  his  penniless  love,  his  half-hopeless 
fortunes,  or  maybe  his  lot  of  never-ending  care,  for  the 
"brawest  bridegroom"  under  the  sun. 

Under  this  sun — the  common,  every-day  winter  sun  of 
Regent  and  Oxford  Streets — she  walked  now  as  brightly 
and  bravely  as  if  there  were  no  trouble  before  her,  no  pain- 
ful meeting  with  Ascott,  no  horrid  humiliation  from  which 
every  womanly  feeling  in  her  nature  shrunk  with  acute 
pain.  "  Robert,  my  Robert !"  she  whispered  in  her  heart, 
and  felt  him  so  near  to  her  that  she  was  at  rest,  she  hardly 
knew  why. 

Possibly  grand,  or  clever,  or  happy  people  who  conde- 
scend to  read  this  story  may  despise  it,  think  it  nnideal, 
uninteresting;  treating  of  small  things  and  common  peo- 
ple— "poor  persons,"  in  short.  I  can  not  help  it.  I  write 
for  the  poor;  not  to  excite  the  compassion  of  the  rich  to- 
ward them,  but  to  show  them  their  own  dignity  and  the 


MISTRESS   AJfD   MAID.  173 

bright  side  of  their  poverty.  For  it  has  its  bright  side ; 
and  its  very  darkest,  when  no  sin  is  mixed  up  therewith, 
is  brighter  than  many  an  outwardly  prosperous  life. 

"Better  is  a  dinner  of  herbs,  where  love  is,  than  a  stalled 
ox  and  hatred  therewith. 

"Better  is  a  dry  morsel,  ami  quietness  therewith,  than  a 
house  full  of  sacrifices  and  strife" 

With  these  two  sage  proverbs — which  all  acknowledge 
and  scarcely  any  really  believe,  or  surely  they  would  act 
a  little  more  as  if  they  did — I  leave  Johanna  Leaf  sitting 
silently  in  her  solitary  parlor,  knitting  stockings  for  her 
child ;  weaving  many  a  mingled  web  of  thought  withal, 
yet  never  letting  a  stitch  go  down  ;  and  Hilary  Leaf  walk- 
-ing  cheerily  and  fearlessly  up  one  strange  street  and  down 
another  to  find  out  the  "  bad"  place,  where  she  once  had  no 
idea  it  would  ever  have  been  her  lot  to  go.  One  thing  she 
knew,  and  gloried  in  the  knowledge,  that  if  Robert  Lyon 
had  known  she  was  going,  or  known  half  the  cares  she  had 
to  meet,  he  would  have  recrossed  the  Indian  Seas — have 
risked  fortune,  competence,  hope  of  the  future,  which  was 
the  only  cheer  of  his  hard  present — in  order  to  save  her 
from  them  all. 

The  minute  history  of  this  painful  day  I  do  not  mean  to 
tell.  Hilary  never  told  it  till,  years  after,  she  wept  it  out 
upon  a  bosom  that  could  understand  the  whole,  and  would 
take  good  care  that,  while  the  life  beat  in  his,  she  never 
should  go  through  the  like  again. 

Ascott  came  home — that  is,  was  brought  home — very 
humbled,  contrite,  and  grateful.  There  was  no  one  to  meet  * 
him  but  his  Aunt  Johanna,  and  she  just  kissed  him  quiet- 
ly, and  bade  him  come  over  to  the  fire ;  he  was  shivering, 
and  somewhat  pale.  He  had  even  two  tears  in  his  hand- 
some eyes,  the  first  Ascott  had  been  known  to  shed  since 
he  was  a  boy.  That  he  felt  a  good  deal,  perhaps  as  much 
as  was  in  his  nature  to  feel,  there  could  be  no  doubt.  So 
his  two  aunts  were  glad  and  comforted ;  gave  him  his  tea 
and  the  warmest  seat  at  the  hearth ;  said  not  a  harsh  word 
to  him,  but  talked  to  him  about  indifferent  things.  Tea  be- 


174  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

ing  over,  Hilary  was  anxious  to  get  every  thing  painful 
ended  before  Selina  came  home — Selina,  who,  they  felt  by 
instinct,  had  now  a  separate  interest  from  themselves,  and 
had  better  not  be  told  this  sad  story  if  possible ;  so  she 
asked  her  nephew  "if  he  remembered  what  they  had  to  do 
this  evening." 

"  Had  to  do  ?  Oh,  Aunt  Hilary,  I'm  so  tired  !  can't  you 
let  me  be  quiet  ?  Only  this  one  night.  I  promise  to  bring 
you  every  thing  on  Monday." 

"  Monday  will  be  too  late.  I  shall  be  away.  And  you 
know  you  can't  do  without  my  excellent  arithmetic,"  she 
added,  with  a  faint  smile.  "  Now,  Ascott,  be  a  good  boy — 
fetch  down  all  those  bills,  and  let  us  go  over  them  together." 

"  His  debts  came  to  more  than  the  thirty  pounds  then  ?" 
said  his  Aunt  Johanna,  when  he  was  gone. 

"  Yes.  But  the  ring  sold  for  fifty."  And  Hilary  drew 
to  the  table,  got  writing  materials,  and  sat  waiting,  with  a 
dull,  silent  patience  in  her  look,  at  which  Johanna  sighed 
and  said  no  more. 

The  aunt  and  nephew  spent  some  time  in  going  over 
that  handful  of  papers,  and  approximating  to  the  sum  to- 
tal, in  that  kind  of  awful  arithmetic  when  figures  cease  to 
be  mere  figures,  but  grow  into  avenging  monsters,  bearing 
with  them  life  or  death. 

"Is  that  all?  You  are  quite  sure  it  is  all?"  said  Hilary 
at  last,  pointing  to  the  whole  amount,  and  looking  steadi- 
ly into  Ascott's  eyes. 

He  flushed  up,  and  asked  what  she  meant  by  doubting 
his  word. 

"Not  that,  but  you  might  easily  have  made  a  mistake; 
you  are  so  careless  about  money  matters." 

"Ah  !  that's  it.  I'm  just  careless,  and  so  I  come  to  grief. 
But  I  never  mean  to  be  careless  any  more.  I'll  be  as  pre- 
cise as  you.  I'll  balance  my  books  every  week — every 
day,  if  you  like — exactly  as  you  do  at  that  horrid  shop, 
Aunt  Hilary." 

So  he  was  rattling  on,  but  Hilary  stopped  him  by  point- 
ing to  the  figures. 


MISTRESS   AND    MAID.  175 

"You  see,  this  sum  is  more  than  we  expected.  How  is 
it  to\)Q  met?  Think  for  yourself.  Yon  are  a  man  now." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Ascott,  sullenly;  "but  what's  the 
use  of  it?  Money  only  makes  the  man,  and  I  have  none. 
If  the  ancient  Peter  would  but  die  now  and  leave  me  his 
heir,  though  to  be  sure  Aunt  Selina  might  be  putting  her 
oar  in.  Perhaps — considering  I'm  Aunt  Selina's  nephew — 
if  I  were  to  walk  into  the  old  chap  now,  he  might  be  in- 
duced to  fork  out !  Hurrah  !  that's  a  splendid  idea." 

"What  idea?" 

"  I'll  borrow  the  money  from  old  Ascott." 

"That  means, because  he  has  already  given,  you  would 
have  him  keep  on  giving — and  you  would  take,  and  take, 
and  take — Ascott,  I'm  ashamed  of  you." 

But  Ascott  only  burst  out  laughing.  "  Nonsense !  he 
has  money  and  I  have  none  ;  why  shouldn't  he  give  it  me  ?" 

"Why?"  she  repeated,  her  eyes  flashing  and  her  little 
feminine  figure  seeming  to  grow  taller  while  she  spoke  ; 
"I'll  tell  you,  since  you  don't  seem  yourself  to  understand 
it.  Because  a  young  man,  with  health  and  strength  in 
him,  should  blush  to  eat  any  bread  but  what  he  himself 
earns.  Because  he  should  work  at  any  thing  and  every 
thing,  stint  himself  of  every  luxury  and  pleasure,  rather 
than  ask  or  borrow,  or,  except  under  rare  circumstances, 
rather  than  be  indebted  to  any  living  soul  for  a  single  half- 
penny. I  would  not,  if  I  were  a  young  man." 

"What  a  nice  young  man  you  would  make,  Aunt  Hi- 
lary !" 

There  was  something  in  the  lad's  imperturbable  good- 
humor  at  once  irritating  and  disarming.  Whatever  his 
faults,  they  were  more  negative  than  positive ;  there  was 
no  malice  prepense  about  him,  no  absolute  personal  wick- 
edness. And  he  had  the  strange  charm  of  manner  and 
speech  which  keeps  up  one's  outer  surface  of  habitual  af- 
fection toward  a  person  long  after  all  its  foundations  of 
trust  and  respect  have  hopelessly  crumbled  away. 

"  Come,  now,  my  pretty  aunt  must  go  with  me.  She 
will  manage  the  old  ogre  much  better  than  I.  And  he 


17G  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

must  be  managed  somehow.  It's  all  very  fine  talking  of 
independence,  but  isn't  it  hard  that  a  poor  fellow  should 
be  living  in  constant  dread  of  being  carried  oft*  to  that  hor- 
rid, uncleanly,  beastly  den — bah  !  I  don't  like  thinking  of 
it — and  all  for  want  of  twenty  pounds?  You  must  go  to 
him,  Aunt  Hilary." 

She  saw  they  must — there  was  no  help  for  it.  Even  Jo- 
hanna said  so.  It  was,  after  all,  only  asking  for  Ascott's 
quarterly  allowance  three  days  in  advance,  for  it  was  due 
on  Tuesday.  But  what  jarred  against  her  proud,  honest 
spirit  was  the  implication  that  such  a  request  gave  of  tak- 
ing as  a  right  that  which  had  been  so  long  bestowred  as  a 
favor.  Nothing  but  the  great  strait  they  were  in  could 
ever  have  driven  her  to  consent  that  Mr.  Ascott  should  be 
applied  to  at  all;  but  since  it  must  be  done,  she  felt  that 
she  had  better  do  it  herself.  Was  it  from  some  lurking 
doubt  or  dread  that  Ascott  might  not  speak  the  entire 
truth,  as  she  had  insisted  upon  its^being  spoken,  before  Mr. 
Ascott  was  asked  for  any  thing  ?  since  whatever  he  gave 
must  be  given  with  a  full  knowledge  on  his  part  of  the 
whole  pitiable  state  of  affairs. 

It  was  with  a  strange,  sad  feeling — the  sadder  because 
he  never  seemed  to  suspect  it,  but  talked  and  laughed  with 
her  as  usual — that  she  took  her  nephew's  arm  and  walked 
silently  through  the  dark  squares,  perfectly  well  aware  that 
he  only  asked  her  to  go  with  him  in  order  to  do  an  unpleas- 
ant thing  which  he  did  not  like  to  do  himself,  and  that  she 
only  went  with  him  in  the  character  of  watch,  or  supervi- 
sor, to  try  and  save  him  from  doing  something  which  she 
herself  would  be  ashamed  should  be  done. 

Yet  he  was  ostensibly  the  head,  hope,  and  stay  of  the 
family.  Alas  !  many  a  family  has  to  submit  to,  and  smile 
under  an  equally  melancholy  and  fatal  sham. 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  177 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MR.  ASCOTT  was  sitting  half  asleep  in  his  solitary  din- 
ing-room, his  face  rosy  with  wine,  his  heart  warmed  also, 
probably  from  the  same  cause.  Not  that  he  was  in  the 
least "  tipsy" — that  low  word  applicable  only  to  low  peo- 
ple, and  not  to  men  of  property,  who  have  a  right  to  enjoy 
all  the  good  things  of  this  life.  He  was  scarcely  even 
"merry,"  merely  "comfortable,"  in  that  cozy,  benevolent 
state  which  middle-aged  or  elderly  gentlemen  are  apt  to 
fall  into  after  a  good  dinner  and  good  wine,  when  they 
have  no  mental  resources,  and  the  said  good  dinner  and 
good  wine  constitutes  their  best  notion  of  felicity. 

Yet  wealth  and  comfort  are  not  things  to  be  despised. 
Hilary  herself  was  not  insensible  to  the  pleasantness  of  this 
warm,  well-lit,  crimson -atmosphered  apartment.  She  as 
well  as  her  neighbors  liked  pretty  things  about  her,  soft, 
harmonious  colors  to  look  at  and  wear,  well-cooked  food  to 
eat,  cheerful  rooms  to  live  in.  If  she  could  have  had  all 
these  luxuries  with  those  she  loved  to  share  them,  no  doubt 
she  M'ould  have  been  much  happier.  But  yet  she  felt  to 
the  full  that  solemn  truth  that  "a  man's  life  consisteth  not 
in  the  abundance  of  tilings  that  he  possesses;"  and  though 
hers  was  outwardly  so  dark,  so  full  of  poverty,  anxiety,  and 
pain,  still  she  knew  that  inwardly  it  owned  many  things, 
one  thing  especially,  which  no  money  could  buy,  and  with- 
out which  fine  houses,  fine  furniture,  and  fine  clothes — in- 
deed, all  the  comforts  and  splendors  of  existence,  would 
be  worse  than  valueless — actual  torment.  So,  as  she  looked 
around  her,  she  felt  not  the  slightest  envy  of  her  sister  Se- 
lina. 

Nor  of  honest  Peter,  who  rose  up  from  his  arm-chair, 
pulling  the  yellow  silk  handkerchief  from  his  sleepy  face, 
and,  it  must  be  confessed,  receiving  his  future  connections 
very  willingly,  and  even  kindly. 

II  2 


178  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

Now  how  was  he  to  be  told  ?  How,  when  she  and  As- 
cott  sat  over  the  wine  and  dessert  he  had  ordered  for  them, 
listening  to  the  rich  man's  complaisant  pomposities,  were 
they  to  explain  that  they  had  come  a  begging,  asking  him, 
as  the  climax  to  his  liberalities,  to  advance  a  few  pounds 
in  order  to  keep  the  young  man  whom  he  had  for  years  gen- 
erously and  sufficiently  maintained  out  of  prison  ?  This, 
smooth  it  over  as  one  might,  was,  Hilary  felt,  the  plain  En- 
glish of  the  matter,  and  as  minute  after  minute  lengthened, 
and  nothing  was  said  of  their  errand,  she  sat  upon  thorns. 

But  Ascott  drank  his  wine  and  ate  his  walnuts  quite 
composedly. 

At  last  Hilary  said,  in  a  sort  of  desperation,  "Mr.  Ascott, 
I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"With  pleasure,  my  dear  young  lady.  Will  you  come 
to  my  study  ?  I  have  a  most  elegantly  furnished  study,  I 
assure  you.  And  any  affair  of  yours — " 

"Thank  you, but  it  is  not  mine;  it  concerns  my  nephew 
here." 

And  then  she  braced  up  all  her  courage,  and  while  As- 
cott busied  himself  over  his  walnuts — he  had  the  grace  to 
look  excessively  uncomfortable — she  told,  as  briefly  as  pos- 
sible, the  bitter  truth. 

Mr.  Ascott  listened,  apparently  without  surprise,  and, 
anyhow,  without  comment.  His  self-important  loquacity 
ceased,  and  his  condescending  smile  passed  into  a  sharp, 
reticent,  business  look.  He  knitted  his  shaggy  brows,  con- 
tracted that  coarsely-hung  but  resolute  mouth,  in  which  lay 
the  secret  of  his  success  in  life,  buttoned  up  his  coat,  and 
stuck  his  hands  behind  him  over  his  coat-tails.  As  he  stood 
there  on  his  own  hearth,  with  all  his  comfortable  splendors 
about  him — a  man  who  had  made  his  own  money,  hardly 
and  honestly,  who  from  the  days  when  he  was  a  poor  er- 
rand-lad had  had  no  one  to  trust  to  but  himself,  yet  had 
managed  always  to  help  himself,  ay,  and  others  too — Hi 
lary's  stern  sense  of  justice  contrasted  him  with  the  grace- 
ful young  man  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  so  much  his  in- 
ferior, and  so  much  his  debtor.  She  owned  that  Peter 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  179 

Ascott  had  a  right  to  look  both  contemptuous  and  dis- 
pleased. 

"  A  very  pretty  story,  but  I  almost  expected  it,"  said  he. 

And  there  he  stopped.  In  his  business  capacity  he  was 
too  acute  a  man  to  be  a  man  of  many  words,  and  his  feel- 
ings, if  they  existed,  were  kept  to  himself. 

"It  all  comes  to  this,  young  man,"  he  continued,  after  an 
uncomfortable  pause,  in  which  Hilary  could  have-  counted 
every  beat  of  her  heart,  and  even  Ascott  played  with  his 
wine-glass  in  a  nervous  kind  of  way — "  you  want  money, 
and  you  think  I'm  sure  to  give  it,  because  it  wouldn't  be 
pleasant  just  now  to  have  discreditable  stories  going  about 
concerning  the  future  Mrs.  Ascott's  relatives.  You're  quite 
right,  it  wouldn't.  But  I'm  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught 
with  chaff  for  all  that.  You  must  rise  very  early  in  the 
morning  to  take  me  in." 

Hilary  started  up  in  an  agony  of  shame.  "That's  not 
fair,  Mr.  Ascott.  We  do  not  take  you  in.  Have  we  not 
told  you  the  whole  truth  ?  I  was  determined  you  should 
know  it  before  we  asked  you  for  one  farthing  of  your 
money.  If  there  were  the  smallest  shadow  of  a  chance  for 
Ascott  in  any  other  way,  we  never  would  have  come  to 
you  at  all.  It  is  a  horrible,  horrible  humiliation  !" 

It  might  be  that  Peter  Ascott  had  a  soft  place  in  his 
heart,  or  that  this  time,  just  before  his  marriage,  was  the 
one  crisis  which  sometimes  occurs  in  a  hard  man's  life, 
when,  if  the  right  touch  comes,  he  becomes  malleable  ever 
after;  but  he  looked  kindly  at  the  poor  girl,  and  said,  in 
quite  a  gentle  way, 

"Don't  vex  yourself,  my  dear.  I  shall  give  the  young 
fellow  what  he  wants ;  nobody  ever  called  Peter  Ascott 
stingy.  But  he  has  cost  me  enough  already ;  he  must  shift 
for  himself  now.  Hand  me  over  that  check-book,  Ascott ; 
but  remember,  this  is  the  last  you'll  ever  see  of  my  money." 

He  wrote  the  memorandum  of  the  check  inside  the  page, 
then  tore  off  the  check  itself,  and  proceeded  to  write  the 
words  "Twenty  pounds,"  date  it,  and  sign  it,  lingering  over 
the  signature  as  if  he  had  a  certain  pride  in  the  honest 


ISO  MISTKESS    AND    MAID. 

name  "Peter  Ascott,"  and  was  well  aware  of  its  monetary 
value  on  'Change  and  elsewhere. 

"  There,  Miss  Hilary,  I  flatter  myself  that's  not  a  bad  sig- 
nature, nor  would  be  easily  forged.  One  can  not  be  too 
careful  over—  What's  that?  a  letter,  John ?" 

By  his  extreme  eagerness,  almost  snatching  it  from  his 
footman's  hands,  it  was  one  of  importance.  He  made  some 
sort  of  rough  apology,  drew  the  writing  materials  to  him, 
wrote  one  or  two  business -looking  letters,  and  made  out 
one  or  two  more  checks. 

"Here's  yours,  Ascott;  take  it,  and  let  me  have  done 
with  it,"  said  lie,  throwing  it  across  the  table  folded  up. 
"  Can't  waste  time  on  such  small  transactions.  Ma'am, 
excuse  me,  but  five  thousand  pounds  depends  on  my  get- 
ting these  letters  written  and  sent  oft'  within  a  quarter  of 
an  hour." 

Hilary  bent  her  head,  and  sat  watching  the  pen  scratch, 
and  the  clock  tick  on  the  mantlepiece ;  thinking  if  this  real- 
ly was  to  be  the  last  of  his  godfather's  allowance,  what  on 
earth  would  become  of  Ascott?  For  Ascott  himself,  he 
said  not  a  word  ;  not  even  when,  the  letters  dispatched, 
Mr.  Ascott  rose,  and  administering  a  short,  sharp  homily, 
tacitly  dismissed  his  visitors.  Whether  this  silence  was 
»u  lien  ness,  cowardice,  or  shame,  Hilary  could  not  guess. 

She  quitted  the  house  with  a  sense  of  grinding  humilia- 
tion almost  intolerable.  But  still  the  worst  was  over  ;  the 
money  had  been  begged  and  given — there  was  no  fear  of 
a  prison.  And,  spite  of  every  thing,  Hilary  felt  a  certain 
relief  that  this  was  the  last  time  Ascott  would  be  indebted 
to  his  godfather.  Perhaps  this  total  cessation  of  extrane- 
ous help  might  force  the  young  man  upon  his  own  resources, 
compel  his  easy  temperament  into  active  energy,  and  bring 
out  in  him  those  dormant  qualities  that  his  aunts  still  fond- 
ly hoped  existed  in  him. 

"  Don't  be  down-hearted,  Ascott/'  she  said ;  "  we  will 
manage  to  get  on  somehow  till  you  hear  of  a  practice,  and 
then  you  must  work — work  like  a  '  brick,'  as  you  call  it. 
You  will,  I  know." 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  181 

He  answered  nothing. 

"  I  won't  let  you  give  in,  my  boy,"  she  went  on,  kindly. 
"Who  would  ever  dream  of  giving  in  at  your  age,  with 
health  and  strength,  a  good  education,  and  no  encumbran- 
ces whatever — not  even  aunts !  for  we  will  not  stand  in 
your  way,  be  sure  of  that.  If  you  can  not  settle  here,  you 
shall  try  to  get  out  abroad,  as  you  have  sometimes  wished, 
as  an  army-surgeon  or  a  ship's  doctor;  you  say  these  ap- 
pointments are  easy  enough  to  be  had.  Why  not  try? 
Any  thing ;  we  will  consent  to  any  thing,  if  only  we  can 
see  your  life  busy,  and  useful,  and  happy." 

Thus  she  talked,  feeling  far  more  tenderly  to  him  in  his 
forlorn  despondency  than  when  they  had  quitted  the  house 
two  hours  before.  But  Ascott  took  not  the  slightest  no- 
tice. A  strange  fit  of  sullenness  or  depression  seemed  to 
have  come  over  him,  which,  when  they  reached  home  and 
met  Aunt  Johanna's  silently-questioning  lace,  changed  into 
devil-may-care  indifference. 

"  Oh  yes,  aunt,  we've  done  it ;  we've  got  the  money,  and 
now  I  may  go  to  the  dogs  as  soon  as  I  like." 

"  No,"  said  Aunt  Hilary, "  it  is  nothing  of  the  sort ;  it  is 
only  that  Ascott  must  now  depend  upon  himself,  and  not 
upon  his  godfather.  Take  courage,"  she  added,  and  went 
up  to  him  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead ;  "  we'll  never 
let  our  boy  go  to  the  dogs  !  and  as  for  this  disappointment, 
or  any  disappointment,  why,  it's  just  like  a  cold  bath  ;  it 
takes  away  your  breath  for  the  time,  and  then  you  rise  up 
out  of  it  brisker  and  fresher  than  ever." 

But  Ascott  shook  his  head  with  a  fierce  denial.  "Why 
should  that  old  fellow  be  as  rich  as  Croesus  and  I  as  poor 
as  a  rat  ?  Why  should  I  be  put  into  the  world  to  enjoy 
myself,  and  can't  ?  Why  was  I  made  like  what  I  am,  and 
then  punished  for  it  ?  Whose  fault  is  it  ?" 

Ay,  whose  ?  The  eternal,  unsolvable  problem  rose  up  be- 
fore Hilary's  imagination.  The  ghastly  spectre  of  that  ev- 
erlasting doubt,  which  haunts  even  the  firmest  faith  some- 
times— and  which  all  the  nonsense  written  about  that  mys- 
tery which, 


182  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

"  Binding  nature  fast  in  fate, 
Leaves  free  the  human  will," 

only  makes  darker  than  before — oppressed  her  for  the  time 
being  with  an  inexpressible  dread. 

Ay,  ivhy  was  it  that  the  boy  was  what  he  was  ?  From 
his  inherited  nature,  his  temperament,  or  his  circumstan- 
ces? What,  or,  more  awful  question  still,  who  was  to  blame? 

But  as  Hilary's  thoughts  went  deeper  down  the  question 
answered  itself — at  least  as  far  as  it  ever  can  be  answered 
in  this  narrow,  finite  stage  of  being.  Whose  will — we  dare 
not  say  whose  blame — is  it  that  evil  must  inevitably  gen- 
erate evil?  that  the  smallest  wrong-doing  in  any  human 
being  rouses  a  chain  of  results  which  may  fatally  involve 
other  human  beings  in  an  almost  incalculable  circle  of  mis- 
ery ?  The  wages  of  sin  is  death.  WTere  it  not  so,  sin  would 
cease  to  be  sin,  and  holiness,  holiness.  If  He,  the  All-holy, 
who  for  some  inscrutable  purpose  saw  fit  to  allow  the  ex- 
istence of  evil,  allowed  any  other  Jaw  than  this,  in  either 
the  spiritual  £>r  material  world,  would  He  not  be  denying 
Himself,  counteracting  the  necessities  of  His  own  righteous 
essence,  to  which  evil  is  so  antagonistic,  that  we  can  not 
doubt  it  must  be  in  the  end  cast  into  total  annihilation — 
into  the  allegorical  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone,  which  is  the 
"second  death?"  Nay,  do  they  not  in  reality  deny  Him 
and  His  holiness  almost  as  much  as  Atheists  do.  who  preach 
that  the  one  great  salvation  which  He  has  sent  into  the 
world  is  a  salvation  from  punishment — a  keeping  out  of 
hell  and  getting  into  heaven — instead  of  a  salvation  from 
sin,  from  the  power  and  love  of  sin,  through  the  love  of 
God  in  Christ  ? 

I  tell  these  thoughts,  because  like  lightning  they  passed 
through  Hilary's  mind,  as  sometimes  a  whole  chain  of 
thoughts  do,  link  after  link,  and  because  they  helped  her 
to  answer  her  nephew  quietly  and  briefly,  for  she  saw  he 
was  in  no  state  of  mind  to  be  argued  with. 

"I  can  not  explain,  Ascott,  why  it  is  that  any  of  us  are 
what  we  are,  and  why  things  happen  to  us  as  they  do;  it 
is  a  question  we  none  of  us  understand,  and  in  this  world 


MISTRESS   AND    MAID.  183 

never  shall.  But  if  we  know  what  we  ought  to  be,  and 
how  we  may  make  the  best  of  every  thing,  good  or  bad, 
that  happens  to  us,  surely  that  is  enough,  without  perplex- 
ing ourselves  about  any  thing  more." 

Ascott  smiled,  half  contemptuously,  half  carelessly  :  he 
was  not  a  young  fellow  likely  to  perplex  himself  long  or 
deeply  about  these  sort  of  things. 

"Anyhow,  I've  got  £20  iu  my  pocket,  so  I  can't  starve 
for  a  day  or  two.  Let's  see;  where  is  it  to  be  cashed? 
Hillo  !  who  would  have  thought  the  old  fellow  would  have 
been  so  stupid  ?  Look  there,  Aunt  Hilary  !" 

She  was  so  unfamiliar  with  checks  for  £20,  poor  little 
woman !  that  she  did  not  at  first  recognize  the  omission 
of  the  figures  "£20"  at  the  left-hand  corner.  Otherwise 
the  check  was  correct. 

"  Ho,  ho !"  laughed  Ascott,  exceedingly  amused,  so  easi- 
ly was  the  current  of  his  mind  changed.  "  It  must  have 
been  the  £5000  pending  that  muddled  the  'cute  old  fel- 
low's brains.  I  wonder  whether  he  will  remember  it  after- 
ward, and  come  posting  up  to  see  that  I  have  taken  no  ill 
advantage  of  his  blunder ;  changed  this l  Twenty'  into '  Sev- 
enty.' I  easily  could,  and  put  the  figures  £?0  here.  What 
a  good  joke !" 

"  Had  ye  not  better  go  to  him  at  once,  and  have  the  mat- 
ter put  right  ?" 

"  Rubbish  !  I  can  put  it  right  myself.  It  makes  no  dif- 
ference who  fills  up  a  check,  so  that  it  is  signed  all  correct. 
A  deal  you  women  know  of  business !" 

But  still  Hilary,  with  a  certain  womanish  uneasiness 
about  money-matters,  and  an  anxiety  to  have  the  thing 
settled  beyond  doubt,  urged  him  to  go. 

"Very  well ;  just  as  you  like.  I  do  believe  you  are  afraid 
of  my  turning  forger." 

He  buttoned  his  coat  with  a  half  sulky,  half  defiant  air, 
left  his  supper  untasted,  and  disappeared. 

It  was  midnight  before  he  returned.  His  aunts  were  still 
sitting  up,  imagining  all  sorts  of  horrors,  in  an  anxiety  too 
great  for  words;  but  when  Hilary  ran  to  the  door  with 


184  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

the  (natural "  Oh,  Ascott,  where  have  you  been  ?"  he  pushed 
her  aside  with  a  gesture  that  was  almost  fierce  in  its  re- 
pulsion. 

"Where  have  I  been?  taking  a  walk  round  the  Park; 
that's  all.  Can't  I  come  and  go  as  I  like,  without  being 
pestered  by  women  ?  I'm  horribly  tired.  Let  me  alone 
—do !" 

They  did  let  him  alone.  Deeply  wounded,  Aunt  Johan- 
na took  no  further  notice  of  him  tlian  to  set  his  chair  a  lit- 
tle closer  to  the  lire,  and  Aunt  Hilary  slipped  down  stairs 
for  more  coals.  There  she  found  Elizabeth,  who  they 
thought  had  long  since  gone  to  bed,  sitting  on  the  stairs, 
very  sleepy,  but  watching  still. 

"Is  he  come  in?"  she  asked;  "because  there  are  more 
bailiffs  after  him.  I'm  sure  of  it;  I  saw  them." 

This,  then,  might  account  for  his  keeping  out  of  the  way 
till  after  twelve  o'clock,  and  also  for  his  wild,  haggard 
look.  Hilary  put  aside  her  vague  dread  of  some  DCW  mis- 
fortune ;  assured  Elizabeth  that  all  was  right ;  he  had  got 
wherewithal  to  pay  every  body  on  Monday  morning,  and 
would  be  safe  till  then.  All  debtors  were  safe  on  Sunday. 

"  Go  to  bed  now — there's  a  good  girl ;  it  is  hard  that 
you  should  be  troubled  with  our  troubles." 

Elizabeth  looked  up  with  those  fond  gray  eyes  of  hers. 
She  was  but  a  servant,  and  yet  looks  like  these  engraved 
themselves  ineffaceably  on  her  mistress's  heart,  imparting 
the  comfort  that  all  pure  love  gives  from  any  one  human 
being  to  another. 

And  love  has  its  wonderful  rights  and  rewards.  Per- 
haps Elizabeth,  who  thought  herself  nothing  at  all  to  her 
mistress,  would  have  marveled  to  know  how  much  closer 
her  mistress  felt  to  this  poor,  honest,  loving  girl,  whose 
truth  she  believed  in,  and  on  whose  faithfulness  she  im- 
plicitly depended,  than  toward  her  own  flesh  and  blood, 
who  sat  there  moodily  over  the  hearth;  deeply  pitied,  sed- 
ulously cared  for,  but  as  for  being  confided  in,  relied  on,  in 
great  matters  or  small,  his  own  concerns  or  theirs — the 
thing  was  impossible. 


MISTEESS    AND    MAID.  185 

They  could  not  even  ask  him — they  dared  not,  in  such  a 
strange  mood  was  he — the  simple  question,  Had  he  seen 
Mr.  Ascott,  and  had  Mr.  Ascott  been  annoyed  about  the 
check?  It  would  not  have  been  referred  to  at  all  had 
not  Hilary,  in  holding  his  coat  to  dry,  taken  his  pocket- 
book  out  of  the  breast-pocket,  when  he  snatched  at  it  an- 
grily. 

"  What  are  you  meddling  with  my  things  for?  Do  you 
want  to  get  at  the  check,  and  be  peering  at  it  to  see  if  it's 
all  right?  But  you  can't;  I've  paid  it  away.  Perhaps 
you'd  like  to  know  who  to?  Then  you  sha'n't.  I'll  not 
be  accountable  to  you  for  all  my  proceedings.  I'll  not  be 
treated  like  a  baby.  You'd  better  mind  what  you  are 
about,  Aunt  Hilary." 

Never,  in  all  his  childish  naughtiness  or  boyish  imper- 
tinence, had  Ascott  spoken  to  her  in  such  a  tone.  She  re- 
garded him  at  first  with  simple  astonishment,  then  hot  in- 
dignation, which  spurred  her  on  to  stand  up  for  her  digni- 
ty, and  not  submit  to  be  insulted  by  her  own  nephew.  But 
then  came  back  upon  her  her  own  doctrine,  taught  by  her 
own  experience,  that  character  and  conduct  alone  consti- 
tutes real  dignity  or  authority.  She  had,  in  point  of  fact, 
no  authority  over  him ;  no  one  can  have,  not  even  parents, 
over  a  young  man  of  his  age,  except  that  personal  influence 
which  is  the  strongest  sway  of  all. 

She  said  only,  with  a  quietness  that  surprised  herself, 
"You  mistake, Ascott;  I  have  no  wish  to  interfere  with 
you  whatever;  you  are  your  own  master,  and  must  take 
your  own  course.  I  only  expect  from  you  the  ordinary 
respect  that  a  gentleman  shows  to  a  lady.  You  must  be 
very  tired  and  ill,  or  you  would  not  have  forgotten  that.'1 

"I  didn't;  or,  if  I  did,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  half 
subdued.  "When  are  you  going  to  bed  ?" 

"  Directly.     Shall  I  light  your  candle  also  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  not  for  the  world  ;  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink.  I'd 
go  mad  if  I  went  to  bed.  I  think  I'll  turn  out  and  have  a 
cigar." 

His  whole  manner  was  so  strange  that  his  Aunt  Johan- 


186  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

na,  who  had  sat  aloof,  terribly  grieved,  but  afraid  to  inter- 
fere, was  moved  to  rise  up  and  go  over  to  him. 

"  Ascott,  my  dear,  you  are  looking  quite  ill.  Be  advised 
by  your  old  auntie.  Go  to  bed  at  once,  and  forget  every 
thing  till  morning." 

"  I  wish  I  could — I  wish  I  could.     Oh,  auntie,  auntie !" 

He  caught  hold  of  her  hand,  which  she  had  laid  upon  his 
head,  looked  up  a  minute  into  her  kind,  fond  face,  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  boyish  tears. 

Evidently  his  troubles  had  been  too  much  for  him;  he 
was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  For  some  minutes  his 
sobs  were  almost  hysterical ;  then  by  a  struggle  he  recov- 
ered himself,  seemed  exceedingly  annoyed  and  ashamed, 
took  up  his  candle,  bade  them  a  hurried  good-night,  and 
went  to  bed. 

That  is,  he  went  to  his  room ;  but  they  heard  him  mov- 
ing about  overhead  for  a  long  while  after ;  nor  were  they 
surprised  that  he  refused  to  rise  next  morning,  but  lay 
most  of  the  time  with  his  door  locked  until  late  in  the  aft- 
ernoon, when  he  went  out  for  a  long  walk,  and  did  not  re- 
turn till  supper,  which  he  ate. almost  in  silence.  Then,  aft- 
er going  up  to  his  room,  and  coming  down  again,  complain- 
ing bitterly  how  very  cold  it  was,  he  crept  in  to  the  fire- 
side with  a  book  in  his  hand,  of  wrhich  Hilary  noticed  he 
scarcely  read  a  line. 

His  aunts  said  nothing  to  him;  they  had  determined 
not ;  they  felt  that  further  interference  would  be  not  only 
useless,  but  dangerous. 

"  He  will  come  to  himself  by-and-by ;  his  moods,  good  or 
bad,  never  last  long,  you  know,"  said  Hilary,  some\vhat  bit- 
terly. "  But,  in  the  mean  time,  I  think  we  had  better  just 
do  as  he  says — let  him  alone." 

And  in  that  sad,  hopeless  state  they  passed  the  last  hours 
of  that  dreary  Sunday — afraid  either  to  comfort  him  or  rea- 
son with  him ;  afraid,  above  all,  to  blame  him,  lest  it  might 
drive  him  altogether  astray.  That  he  was  in  a  state  of 
great  misery,  half  sullen,  half  defiant,  they  saw,  and  were 
scarcely  surprised  at  it;  it  was  very  hard  not  to  be  able 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  187 

to  open  their  loving  hearts  to  him,  as  those  of  one  family 
should  always  do,  making  every  trouble  a  common  care, 
and  every  joy  a  universal  blessing.  But  in  his  present  state 
of  mind — the  sudden  obstinacy  of  a  weak  nature  conscious 
of  its  weakness,  and  dreading  control — it  seemed  impossi- 
ble either  to  break  upon  his  silence  or  to  force  his  confi- 
dence. 

They  might  have  been  right  in  this,  or  wrong;  after- 
ward Hilary  thought  the  latter.  Many  a  time  she  wished 
and  wished,  wjth  a  bitter  regret,  that  instead  of  the  quiet 
"  Good-night,  Ascott !"  and  the  one  rather  cold  kiss  on  his 
forehead,  she  had  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  insist- 
ed on  his  telling  out  his  whole  mind  to  her,  his  nearest  kins- 
wToman,  who  had  been  half  aunt  and  half  sister  to  him  all 
his  life.  But  it  was  not  done  :  she  parted  from  him,  as  she 
did  Sunday  after  Sunday,  with  a  sore,  sick  feeling  of  how 
much  he  might  be  to  her,  to  them  all,  and  how  little  he 
really  was. 

If  this  silence  of  hers  was  a  mistake — one  of  those  mis- 
takes which  sensitive  people  sometimes  make — it  was,  like 
all  similar  errors,  only  too  sorrowfully  remembered  and 
atoned  for. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  week  passed  by,  and  Hilary  received  no  ill  tidings 
from  home.  Incessant  occupation  kept  her  from  dwelling 
too  much  on  anxious  subjects  ;  besides,  she  would  not  have 
thought  it  exactly  right,  while  her  time  and  her  mental 
powers  were  for  so  many  hours  per  diem  legally  Miss  Bal- 
quidderX  to  waste  the  one  and  weaken  the  other  by  what  is 
commonly  called  "  fretting."  Nor,  carrying  this  conscien- 
tious duty  to  a  higher  degree  and  toward  a  higher  Master, 
would  she  have  dared  to  sit  grieving  overmuch  over  their 
dark  future.  And  yet  it  was  very  dark.  She  pondered 
over  what  was  to  be  done  with  Ascott,  or  whether  he  was 
still  to  be  left  to  the  hopeless  hope  of  doing  something  for 


188  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

himself;  how  long  the  little  establishment  at  No.  15  could 
be  kept  together,  or  if,  after  Selina's  marriage,  it  would  not 
be  advisable  to  make  some  change  that  should  contract 
expenses,  and  prevent  this  hard  separation,  from  Monday 
to  Saturday,  between  Johanna  and  herself. 

These,  with  equally  anxious  thoughts,  attacked  her  in 
crowds  every  day  and  every  hour;  but  she  had  generally 
sufficient  will  to  put  them  aside,  at  least  till  after  work 
was  done,  and  they  could  neither  stupefy  nor  paralyze  her. 
Trouble  had  to  her  been  long  enough  familiar  to  have  taught 
her  its  own  best  lesson — that  the  mind  can,  in  degree,  rule 
itself,  even  as  it  rules  the  body. 

Thus,  in  her  business  duties,  which  were  principally  keep- 
ing accounts;  in  her  management  of  the  two  young  people 
under  her,  and  of  the  small  domestic  establishment  con- 
nected with  the  shop,  Hilary  went  steadily  on,  day  after 
clay ;  made  no  blunders  in  her  arithmetic,  no  mistakes  in 
her  housekeeping.  Being  new  to  all  her  responsibilities, 
she  had  to  give  her  whole  mind  to  them ;  and  she  did  it ; 
and  it  was  a  blessing  to  her — the  sanctified  blessing  which 
rests  upon  labor,  almost  seeming  to  neutralize  its  primeval 
curse. 

But  night  after  night,  when  Avork  was  over,  she  sat  alone 
at  her  sewing — the  only  time  she  had  for  it  —  and  her 
thoughts  went  faster  than  her  needle.  She  turned  over 
plan  after  plan,  and  went  back  upon  hope  after  hope,  that 
had  risen  and  broken  like  waves  of  the  sea — nothing  hap- 
pening that  she  had  expected ;  the  only  thing  which  had 
happened,  or  which  seemed  to  have  any  permanence  or 
reality,  being  two  things  which  she  had  never  expected  at 
all— Selina's  marriage,  and  her  own  engagement  with  Miss 
Balquidder.  It  often  happens  so,  in  most  people's  lives, 
until  at  last  they  learn  to  live  on  from  day  to  day,  doing- 
each  day's  duty  within  the  day,  and  believing  that  it  is  a 
righteous  as  well  as  a  tender  hand  which  keeps  the  next 
day's  page  safely  folded  down. 

So  Hilary  sat,  glad  to  have  a  quiet  hour,  not  to  grieve 
in,  but  to  lay  out  the  details  of  a  plan  which  had  been  ma- 


MISTKESS    AND   MAID.  189 

luring  in  her  mind  all  week,  and  which  she  meant  definite- 
ly to  propose  to  Johanna  when  she  went  home  next  day. 
It  would  cost  her  something  to  do  so,  and  she  had  had 
some  hesitations  as  to  the  scheme  itself,  until  at  last  she 
threw  them  all  to  the  winds,  as  an  honest-hearted,  faithful, 
and  faithfully-trusting  woman  would.  Her  plan  was,  that 
they  should  write  to  the  only  real  friend  the  family  had — 
the  only  good  man  she  believed  in — stating  plainly  their 
troubles  and  difficulties  about  their  nephew ;  asking  his  ad- 
vice, and  possibly  his  help.  He  might  know  of  something 
— some  opening  for  a  young  surgeon  in  India,  or  some  tem- 
porary appointment  for  the  voyage  out  and  home,  which 
might  catch  Ascott's  erratic  and  easily-attracted  fancy; 
give  him  occupation  for  the  time  being,  and  at  least  detach 
him  from  his  present  life,  with  all  its  temptations  and  dan- 
gers. 

Also,  it  might  result  in  bringing  the  boy  again  under 
that  influence  which  had  been  so  beneficial  to  him  while  it 
lasted,  and  which  Hilary  devoutly  believed  was  the  best 
influence  in  the  world.  Was  it  unnatural  if  mingled  with 
an  earnest  desire  for  Ascott's  good  was  an  underlying  de- 
light that  that  good  should  be  done  to  him  by  Robert 
Lyon  ? 

So,  when  her  plan  was  made,  even  to  the  very  words  in 
which  she  meant  to  untold  it  to  Johanna,  and  the  very  form 
in  which  Johanna  should  write  the  letter,  she  allowed  her- 
self a  few  brief  minutes  to  think  of  him — Robert  Lyon — 
to  call  up  his  eyes,  his  voice,  his  smile ;  to  count,  for  the 
hundredth  time,  how  many  months — one  less  than  twenty- 
lour,  so  she  could  not  say  years  now — it  would  be  before 
he  returned  to  England.  Also,  to  speculate  when  and 
where  they  would  first  meet,  and  how  he  would  speak  the 
one  word — all  that  was  needful  to  change  "liking"  into 
"  love,"  and  "friend"  into  "  wife."  They  had  so  grown  to- 
gether during  so  many  years,  not  the  less  so  during  these 
years  of  absence,  that  it  seemed  as  if  such  a  change  would 
hnrdly  make  any  difference.  And  yet — and  yet — as  she 
s:it  and  sewed,  wearied  with  her  day's  labors,  sad  and  per- 


190  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

plexed,  she  thought — if  only  by  some  strange  magic,  Rob- 
ert Lyon  were  standing  opposite,  holding  open  his  arniSj 
ready  and  glad  to  take  her  and  all  her  cares  to  his  heart, 
how  she  would  cling  there !  how  closely  she  would  creep 
to  him,  weeping  with  joy  and  content,  neither  afraid  nor 
ashamed  to  let  him  see  how  dearly  she  loved  him ! 

Only  a  dream  !  ah,  only  a  dream  !  and  she  started  from 
it  at  the  sharp  sound  of  the  door-bell — started,  blushing 
and  trembling,  as  if  it  had  been  Robert  Lyon  himself,  when 
she  knew  it  was  only  her  two  young  assistants  whom  she 
had  allowed  to  go  out  to  tea  in  the  neighborhood.  So  she 
settled  herself  to  her  work  again ;  put  all  her  own  thoughts 
by  in  their  little  private  corners,  and  waited  for  the  en- 
trance and  the  harmless  gossip  of  these  two  orphan  girls} 
who  were  already  beginning  to  love  her,  and  to  make  a 
friend  of  her,  and  toward  whom  she  felt  herself  quite  an 
elderly  and  responsible  person.  Poor  little  Hilary !  It 
seemed  to  be  her  lot  always  to  take  care  of  somebody  or 
other.  Would  it  ever  be  that  any  body  should  take  care 
of  her? 

tSo  she  cleared  away  some  of  her  needle- work,  stirred  the 
fire,  which  was  dropping  hollow  and  dull,  and  looked  up 
pleasantly  to  the  opening  door.  But  it  was  not  the  girls: 
it  was  a  man's  foot  and  a  man's  voice. 

"Any  person  of  the  name  of  Leaf  living  here?  I  wish 
to  see  her,  on  business." 

At  another  time  she  would  have  laughed  at  the  manner 
and  words,  as  if  it  were  impossible  so  great  a  gentleman 
as  Mr.  Ascott  could  want  to  see  so  small  a  person  as  the 
"  person  of  the  name  of  Leaf,"  except  on  business.  But 
now  she  was  startled  by  his  appearance  at  all.  She  sprang 
up  only  able  to  articulate  "  My  sister — " 

"  Don't  be  frightened ;  your  sisters  are  quite  well.  I 
called  at  No.  15  an  hour  ago." 

"You  saw  them?" 

"  No;  I  thought  it  unadvisable,  under  the  circumstances." 

"What  circumstances?" 

"I  will  explain,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  sit  down;  bah! 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  191 

I've  brought  in  sticking  to  me  a  straw  out  of  that  con- 
founded shaky  old  cab.  One  ought  never  to  be  so  stupid 
as  to  go  any  where  except  in  one's  own  carriage.  This  is 
rather  a  small  room,  Miss  Hilary." 

He  eyed  it  curiously  round ;  and,  lastly,  with  his  most 
acute  look,  he  eyed  herself,  as  if  he  wished  to  find  out  some- 
thing from  her  manner  before  going  into  farther  explana- 
tions. 

But  she  stood  before  him  a  little  uneasy,  and  yet  not 
very  much  so.  The  utmost  she  expected  was  some  quar- 
rel with  her  sister  Selina;  perhaps  the  breaking  off  of  the 
match,  which  would  not  have  broken  Hilary's  heart,  at  all 
events. 

"  So  you  have  really  no  idea  what  I'm  come  about  ?" 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"Well!"  said  Peter  Ascott,"!  hardly  thought  it;  but 
when  one  has  been  taken  in  as  I  have  been,  and  this  isn't 
the  first  time  by  your  family — " 

"  Mr.  Ascott !  will  you  explain  yourself?" 

"I  will,  ma'am.  It's  a  very  unpleasant  business  I  come 
about ;  any  other  gentleman  but  me  would  have  come 
with  a  police-officer  at  his  back.  Look  here,  Miss  Hilary 
Leaf — did  you  ever  set  eyes  on  this  before?" 

He  took  out  his  check-book,  turned  deliberately  over  the 
small  memorandum  halves  of  the  page,  till  he  came  to  one 
in  particular,  then  hunted  in  his  pocket-book  for  something. 

"My  banker  sent  in  to-day  my  canceled  checks,  which  I 
don't  usually  go  over  oftener  than  three  months ;  he  knew 
that,  the  scamp  !" 

Hilary  looked  up. 

"  Your  nephew,  to  be  sure.     See  !" 

He  spread  before  her  a  check,  the  very  one  she  had 
watched  him  write  seven  days  before,  made  payable  to 
"Ascott  Leaf,  or  bearer,"  and  signed  with  the  bold,  pecul- 
iar signature,  "  Peter  Ascott."  Only,  instead  of  being  a 
check  for  twenty  pounds,  it  was  for  seventy. 

Instantly  the  whole  truth  flashed  upon  Hilary ;  Ascott's 
remark  about  how  easily  the  T  could  be  made  into  an  S, 


192  MISTEESS    AND   MAIL. 

and  what  a  "good  joke"  it  would  be ;  his  long  absence  that 
night ;  his  strange  manner;  his  refusal  to  let  her  see  the 
check  again  ;  all  was  clear  as  daylight. 

Unfortunate  boy  !  the  temptation  had  been  too  strong 
for  him.  Under  what  sudden,  insane  impulse  he  had  acted 
— under  what  delusion  of  being  able  to  repay  in  time;  or 
of  Mr.  Ascott's  not  detecting  the  fraud;  or,  if  discovered, 
of  its  being  discovered  after  the  marriage,  when  to  prose- 
cute his  wife's  nephew  would  be  a  disgrace  to  himself, 
could  never  be  known.  But  there  unmistakable  was  the 
altered  check,  which  had  been  presented  and  paid,  the  bank- 
er, of  course,  not  having  the  slightest  suspicion  of  any  thing 
amiss. 

"  Well,  isn't  this  a  nice  return  for  all  my  kindness  ?  So 
cleverly  done,  too.  But  for  the  merest  chance  I  might  not 
have  found  it  out  for  three  months.  Oh,  he's  a  precious 
young  rascal,  this  nephew  of  yours.  His  father  was  only 
a  fool,  but  he —  Do  you  know  that  this  is  a  matter  of  for- 
gery— forgery,  ma'am,"  added  Mr.  Ascott,  waxing  hot  in 
his  indignation. 

Hilary  uttered  a  bitter  groan. 

Yes,  it  was  quite  true.  Their  Ascott,  their  own  boy, 
wras  no  longer  merely  idle,  extravagant,  thoughtless — faults 
bad  enough,  but  capable  of  being  mended  as  he  grew  old- 
er :  he  had  done  that  whieh  to  the  end  of  his  days  he  could 
never  blot  out.  He  was  a  swindler  and  a  forger. 

She  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together,  as  one  struggling 
with  sharp  physical  pain,  trying  to  read  the  expression  of 
Mr.  Ascott's  face.  At  last  she  put  her  question  into  words. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?    Shall  you  prosecute  him?" 

Mr.  Ascott  crossed  his  legs,  and  settled  his  neckcloth  with 
a  self-satisfied  air.  He  evidently  rather  enjoyed  the  im- 
portance of  his  position.  To  be  dictator,  almost  of  life  and 
death,  to  this  unfortunate  family  was  worth  certainly  fifty 
pounds. 

"Well,  I  haven't  exactly  determined.  The  money,  you 
see,  is  of  no  moment  to  me,  and  I  couldn't  get  it  back  any- 
how. He'll  never  be  worth  a  halfpenny,  that  rascal.  I 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  193 

might  prosecute,  and  nobody  would  blame  me;  indeed, if 
I  were  to  decline  marrying  your  sister,  and  cut  the  whole 
set  of  you,  I  don't  see,"  and  he  drew  himself  up, "  that  any 
thing  could  be  said  against  me.  But — " 

Perhaps,  hard  man  as  he  was,  he  was  touched  by  the 
agony  of  suspense  in  Hilary's  face,  for  he  added, 

"  Come,  come,  I  won't  disgrace  your  family ;  I  won't  do 
any  thing  to  harm  the  fellow." 

"Thank  you!"  said  Hilary,  in  a  mechanical,  upnatural 
voice. 

"  As  for  my  money,  he's  welcome  to  it,  and  much  good 
may  it  do  him.  l  Set  a  beggar  on  horseback,  and  he'll  ride 
to  the  devil,'  and  in  double  quick  time  too.  I  won't  hin- 
der him.  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  young  scapegrace.  But 
he'd  better  not  come  near  me  again." 

"  No,"  acquiesced  Hilary,  absently. 

"  In  fact,"  said  Mr.  Ascott,  with  a  twinkle  of  his  sharp 
eye, "  I  have  already  taken  measures  to  frighten  him  away, 
so  that  he  may  make  himself  scarce,  and  give  neither  you 
nor  me  any  farther  trouble.  I  drove  up  to  your  door  with 
a  policeman,  asked  to  see  Mr.  Leaf,  and  when  I  heard  that 
he  was  out — a  lie,  of  course — I  left  word  I'd  be  back  in  half 
an  hour.  Depend  upon  it,"  and  he  winked  confidentially, 
"  he  will  smell  a  rat,  and  make  a  moonlight  flitting  of  it, 
and  we  shall  never  hear  of  him  any  more." 

"  Never  hear  of  Ascott  any  more  ?"  repeated  Hilary ;  and 
for  an  instant  she  ceased  to  think  of  him  as  what  he  was 
— swindler,  forger,  ungrateful  to  his  benefactors,  a  disgrace 
to  his  home  and  family.  She  saw  only  the  boy  Ascott, 
with  his  bright  looks  and  pleasant  ways,  whom  his  aunts 
had  brought  up  from  his  cradle,  and  loved-, with  all  his 
faults — perhaps  loved  still.  "  Oh,  I  must  go  home.  This 
will  break  Johanna's  heart !" 

Mr.  Peter  Ascott  possibly  never  had  a  heart,  or  it  had 
been  so  stunted  in  its  growth  that  it  had  never  reached  its 
fair  development.  Yet  he  felt  sorry  in  his  way  for  the 
"  young  person,"  who  looked  so  deadly  white,  yet  tried  so 
hard  not  to  make  a  scene;  nay,  when  her  two  assistants 

I 


194  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

came  into  the  one  little  parlor,  deported  herself  with  steady 
composure ;  told  them  that  she  was  obliged  suddenly  to 
go  home,  but  would  be  back,  if  possible,  the  next  morning. 
Then,  in  that  orderly,  accurate  way  which  Peter  Ascott 
could  both  understand  and  appreciate,  she  proceeded  to 
arrange  with  them  about  the  shop  and  the  house  in  case 
she  might  be  detained  till  Monday. 

"  You're  not  a  bad  woman  of  business,"  said  he,  with  a 
patronizing  air.  "This  seems  a  tidy  little  shop;  I  dare 
say  you'll  get  on  in  it." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  bewildered  air,  and  went  on 
speaking  to  the  young  woman  at  the  door. 

"How  much  might  your  weekly  receipts  be  in  a  place 
like  this?  And  what  salary  does  Miss — Miss  What's  her- 
narne  give  to  each  of  you  ?  You're  the  head  shop-woman, 
I  suppose?" 

Hilary  made  no  answer;  she  scarcely  heard.  All  her 
mind  was  full  of  but  one  thing:  "Never  see  Ascott  any 
more !"  There  came  back  upon  her  all  the  dreadful  sto- 
ries she  had  ever  heard  of  lads  who  had  committed  forgery 
or  some  similar  offense,  and,  in  dread  of  punishment,  had 
run  awray  in  despair,  and  never  been  heard  of  for  years — 
come  to  every  kind  of  misery,  perhaps  even  destroyed 
themselves.  The  impression  was  so  horribly  vivid,  that 
when,  pausing  an  instant  in  putting  her  books  in  their 
places,  she  heard  the  door-bell  ring,  Hilary  with  difficulty 
repressed  a  scream. 

But  it  wras  no  messenger  of  dreadful  tidings — it  was  only 
Elizabeth  Hand ;  and  the  quiet  fashion  in  which  she  en- 
tered showed  Hilary  at  once  that  nothing  dreadful  had 
happened  at  home. 

"  Oh  no,  nothing  has  happened,"  confirmed  the  girl. 
"Only  Miss  Leaf  sent  me  to  see  if  you  could  come  home 
to-night  instead  of  to-morrow.  She  is  quite  well — that  is, 
pretty  well ;  but  Mr.  Leaf- 
Here,  catching  sight  of  Miss  Hilary's  visitor,  Elizabeth 
stopped  short.  Peter  Ascott  was  one  of  her  prejudices. 
She  determined  in  his  presence  to  let  out  no  more  of  the 
family  affairs. 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  195 

On  his  part,  Mr.  Ascott  had  always  treated  Elizabeth  as 
people  like  him  usually  do  treat  servants,  afraid  to  lose  an 
inch  of  their  dignity,  lest  it  should  be  an  acknowledgment 
of  equal  birth  and  breeding  with  the  class  from  which  they 
are  so  terribly  ashamed  to  have  sprung.  He  regarded  her 
now  with  a  lorldly  air. 

"  Young  woman — I  believe  you  are  the  young  woman 
who  this  afternoon  told  me  that  Mr.  Leaf  was  out.  It  was 
a  fib,  of  course." 

Elizabeth  turned  round  indignantly.  "  No,  sir  *  I  don't 
tell  fibs.  He  was  out." 

"Did  you  give  him  my  message  when  he  came  in?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  what  did  he  say,  eh  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

This  was  the  literal  fact ;  but  there  was  something  be- 
hind which  Elizabeth  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of 
communicating.  In  fact,  she  set  herself,  physically  and* 
mentally,  in  an  attitude  of  dogged  resistance  to  any  pump- 
ing of  Mr.  Ascott ;  for  though,  as  she  had  truly  said,  noth- 
ing special  had  happened,  sne  felt  sure  that  he  was  at  the 
bottom  of  something  which  had  gone  wrong  in  the  house- 
hold that  afternoon. 

It  was  this.  When  Ascott  returned,  and  she  told  him 
of  his  godfather's  visit,  the  young  man  had  suddenly  turned 
so  ghastly  pale  that  she  had  to  fetch  him  a  glass  of  water, 
and  his  Aunt  Johanna — Miss  Selina  was  out — had  to  tend 
him  and  soothe  him  for  several  minutes  before  he  was  right 
again.  When  at  last  he  seemed  returning  to  his  natural 
self,  he  looked  wildly  up  at  his  aunt,  and  clung  to  her  in 
such  an  outburst  of  feeling,  that  Elizabeth  had  thought  it 
best  to  slip  out  of  the  room.  It  was  tea-time,  but  still  she 
waited  outside  for  half  an  hour  or  longer,  when  she  gently 
knocked,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  Miss  Leaf  came  out. 
There  seemed  nothing  wrong,  at  least  not  much — not  more 
than  Elizabeth  had  noticed  many  and  many  a  time  after 
talks  betwen  Ascott  and  his  aunts. 

"  I'll  take  in  the  tea  myself,"  she  said ;  "  for  I  want  you 


196  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

to  start  at  once  for  Kensington  to  fetch  Miss  Hilary.  Don't 
frighten  her  —  mind  that,  Elizabeth.  Say  I  am  much  as 
usual  myself,  but  that  Mr.  Leaf  is  not  quite  well,  and  I  think 
she  might  do  him  good.  Remember  the  exact  words." 

Elizabeth  did,  and  would  have  delivered  them  accurate- 
ly if  Mr.  Ascott  had  not  been  present,  and  addressed  her  in 
that  authoritative  manner.  Now,  she  resolutely  held  her 
tongue. 

Mr.  Ascott  might  in  his  time  have  been  accustomed  to 
cringing,  frightened,  or  impertinent  servants,  but  this  was 
a  phase  of  the  species  with  which  he  was  totally  unfamiliar. 
The  girl  was  neither  sullen  nor  rude,  yet  evidently  quite 
independent;  afraid  neither  of  her  mistress,  nor  of  himself. 
He  was  sharp  enough  to  see  that  whatever  he  wanted  to 
get  out  of  Elizabeth  must  be  got  in  another  way. 

"  Come,  my  wench,  you'd  better  tell ;  it'll  be  none  the 
W7orse  for  you,  arrd  it  sha'n't  harm  the  young  fellow,  though 
I  dare  say  he  has  paid  you  well  for  holding  your  tongue." 

"About  what,  sir?" 

"  Oh  !  you  know  what  happened  when  you  told  him  I 
had  called,  eh  ?  Servants  get  to  know  all  about  their  mas- 
ter's affairs." 

"  Mr.  Leaf  isn't  my  master,  and  his  affairs  arc  nothing 
to  me;  I  don't  pry  into  'em,"  replied  Elizabeth.  "If  you 
want  to  know  any  thing,  sir,  hadn't  you  better  ask  himself? 
He's  at  home  to-night.  I  left  him  and  my  missus  going  to 
their  tea." 

"  Left  them  at  home,  and  at  tea  ?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Hilary." 

It  was  an  inexpressible  relief.  For  the  discovery  must 
have  come.  Ascott  must  have  known  or  guessed  that  Mr. 
Ascott  had  found  him  out ;  he  must  have  confessed  all  to 
his  aunt,  or  Johanna  would  never  have  done  two  things 
which  her  sister  knew  she  strongly  disliked — sending  Eliz- 
abeth wandering  through  London  at  night,  and  fetching 
Hilary  home  before  the  time.  Yet  they  had  been  left  sit- 
ting quietly  at  their  tea! 

Perha-ps,  after  all,  the  blow  had  not  been  so  dreadful, 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  197 

Johanna  saw  comfort  through  it  all.  Vague  hopes  arose 
in  Hilary  also;  visions  of  the  poor  sinner  sitting  "  clothed 
and  in  his  right  mind,"  contrite  and  humbled ;  comforted 
by  them  all,  with  the  inexpressible  tenderness  with  which 
we  yearn  over  one  who  "  was  dead  and  is  alive  again,  was 
lost,  and  is  found ;"  helped  by  them  all  in  the  way  that 
women — some  women  especially,  and  these  were  of  them 
— seem  formed  to  help  the  erring  and  unfortunate;  for, 
erring  as  he  was,  he  had  also  been  unfortunate. 

Many  an  excuse  for  him  suggested  itself.  How  foolish 
of  them,  ignorant  women  that  they  were,  to  suppose  that 
seventeen  years  of  the  most  careful  bringing  up  could,  with 
his  temperament,  stand  against  the  countless  dangers  of 
London  life ;  of  any  life  where  a  young  man  is  left  to  him- 
self in  a  great  town,  with  his  temptations  so  many,  and  his 
power  of  resistance  so  small.  - 

And  this  might  not,  could  not  be  a  deliberate  act.  It 
must  have  been  committed  under  a  sudden  impulse,  to  be 
repented  of  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  Nay,  in  the  strange 
way  in  which  our  sins  and  mistakes  are  made  not  only  the 
whips  to  scourge  us,  but  the  sicknesses  out  of  which  we  oft- 
en come — suffering  and  weak  indeed,  but  yet  relieved,  and 
fresh,  and  sound — who  could  tell  but  that  this  grave  fault, 
this  actual  guilt,  the  climax  of  so  many  lesser  errors,  might 
not  work  out  in  the  end  Ascott's  complete  reformation  ? 

So,  in  the  strange  way  in  which,  after  a  great  shock,  we 
begin  to  revive  a  little,  to  hope  against  hope,  to  see  a  slen- 
der ray  breaking  through  the  darkness,  Hilary  composed 
herself,  at  least  so  far  as  to  enable  her  to  bid  Elizabeth  go 
down  stairs,  and  she  would  be  ready  directly. 

"I  think  it  is  the  best  thing  I  can  do — to  go  home  at 
once,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Ascott,  rather  flattered 
by  her  involuntary  appeal,  and  by  an  inward  consciousness 
of  his  own  exceeding  generosity.  "And,  pray,  don't  disturb 
yourselves.  Tell  your  sister  from  me — your  sister  Selina, 
I  mean — that  I  overlook  every  thing  on  condition  that  you 
keep  him  out  of  my  sight — that  young  blackguard  !" 


198  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

"  Don't,  don't !"  cried  Hilary,  piteously. 

"  Well,  I  won't,  though  it's  his  right  name — a  fellow  who 
could —  Look  you,  Miss  Hilary,  when  his  father  sent  to  me 
to  beg  ten  pounds  to  bury  his  mother  with,  I  did  bury  her, 
and  him  also,  a  month  after,  very  respectably  too,  though 
.he  had  no  claim  upon  me,  except  that  he  came  from  Stow- 
bury.  And  I  stood  godfather  to  the  child,  and  I've  done 
my  duty  by  him.  But  mark  my  words,  what's  bred  in  the 
bone  will  come  in  the  flesh.  He  was  born  in  a  prison,  and 
he'll  die  in  a  prison." 

"  God  forbid  !"  said  Hilary,  solemnly.  And  again  she 
felt  the  strong  conviction,  that  whatever  his  father  had 
been,  or  his  mother,  of  whom  they  had  heard  nothing  till 
she  was  dead,  Ascott  could  not  have  lived  all  these  years 
of  his  childhood  and  early  boyhood  with  his  three  aunts  at 
Stowbury  without  gaining  at  least  some  good,  which  might 
counteract  the  hereditary  evil ;  as  such  evil  can  be  coun- 
teracted, even  as  hereditary  disease  can  be  gradually  re- 
moved by  wholesome  and  careful  rearing  in  a  new  gener- 
ation. 

"Well,  I'll  not  say  any  more,"  continued  Petor  Ascott; 
"  only,  the  sooner  the  young  fellow  takes  himself  off  the 
better.  He'll  only  plague  you  all.  Now,  can  you  send 
out  for  a  cab  for  me  ?" 

Hilary  mechanically  rang  the  bell  and  gave  the  order. 

"  I'll  take  you  to  town  with  me  if  you  like.  It'll  save 
you  the  expense  of  the  omnibus.  I  suppose  you  always 
travel  by  omnibus  ?" 

Hilary  answered  something,  she  hardly  knew  what,  ex- 
cept that  it  was  a  declining  of  all  these  benevolent  atten- 
tions. At  last  she  got  Mr.  Ascott  outside  the  street  door, 
and,  returning,  put  her  hand  to  her  head  with  a  moan. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Hilary,  don't  look  like  that !" 

"  Elizabeth,  do  you  know  what  has  happened  ?" 

"No." 

"  Then  I  don't  want  you  to  know.  And  you  must  never 
try  to  find  it  out;  for  it  is  a  secret  that  ought  to  be  kept 
strictly  within  the  family.  Are  you  to  be  trusted?" 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  199 

«  Yes,  Miss  Hilary." 

"  Now,  get  me  my  bonnet,  and  let  us  make  haste  and  go 
home." 

They  walked  down  the  gas-lit  Kensington  High  Street, 
Hilary  taking  her  servant's  arm ;  for  she  felt  strangely 
weak.  As  she  sat  in  the  dark  corner  of  the  omnibus  she 
tried  to  look  things  in  the  face,  and  form  some  definite 
plan  ;  but  the  noisy  rumble  at  once  dulled  and  confused 
her  faculties.  She  felt  capable  of  no  consecutive  thought, 
but  found  herself  stupidly  watching  the  two  lines  effaces, 
wondering,  absently,  what  sort  of  people  they  were;  what 
were  their  lives  and  histories ;  and  whether  they  all  had, 
like  herself,  their  own  personal  burden  of  woe.  Which  was, 
alas  !  the  one  fact  that  never  need  be  doubted  in  this  world. 

It  was  nigh  upon  eleven  o'clock  when  Hilary  knocked 
at  the  door  of  No.  15. 

Miss  Leaf  opened  it ;  but  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
had  no  welcome  for  her  child. 

"Is  it  Ascott?  I  thought  it  was  Ascott,"  she  cried, 
peering  eagerly  up  and  down  the  street. 

"  He  is  gone  out,  then  ?  When  did  he  go  ?"  asked  Hi- 
lary, feeling  her  heart  turn  stone-cold. 

"  Just  after  Selina  came  in.  She — she  vexed  him.  But 
he  can  not  be  long.  Is  not  that  man  he  ?" 

And  just  as  she  was,  without  shawl  or  bonnet,  Johanna 
stepped  out  into  the  cold,  damp  night,  and  strained  her 
eyes  into  the  darkness ;  but  in  vain. 

"I'll  walk  round  the  Crescent  once,  and  maybe  I  shall 
find  him.  Only  go  in,  Johanna." 

And  Hilary  was  away  again  into  the  dark,  walking  rap- 
idly, less  with  the  hope  of  finding  Ascott  than  to  get  time 
to  calm  herself,  so  as  to  meet,  and  help  her  sisters  to  meet, 
this  worst  depth  of  their  calamity ;  for  something  warned 
her  that  this  last  desperation  of  a  weak  nature  is  more  to 
be  dreaded  than  any  overt  obstinacy  of  a  strong  one.  She 
had  a  conviction  that  Ascott  never  would  come  home. 

After  a  while  they  gave  up  waiting  and  watching  at  the 
front  door,  and  shut  themselves  up  in  the  parlor.  The  first 


200  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

explanation  past,  even  Selina  ceased  talking ;  and  they  sat 
together,  the  three  women,  doing  nothing,  attempting  to 
do  nothing,  only  listening ;  thinking  every  sound  was  a 
step  on  the  pavement  or  a  knock  at  the  door.  Alas !  what 
would  they  not  have  given  for  the  fiercest  knock,  the  most 
impatient,  angry  footstep,  if  only  it  had  been  their  boy's  ? 

About  one  o'clock  Selina  had  to  be  put  to  bed  in  strong 
hysterics.  She  had  lashed  her  nephew  with  her  bitter 
tongue  till  he  had  rushed  out  of  the  house,  declaring  that 
none  of  them  should  ever  see  his  face  again.  Now  she  re- 
proached herself  as  being  the  cause  of  all,  and  fell  into  an 
agony  of  remorse,  which  engrossed  her  sisters'  whole  care; 
until,  her  violent  emotion  having  worn  itself  out,  she  went 
to  sleep,  the  only  one  who  did  sleep  in  that  miserable 
family. 

For  Elizabeth  also,  having  been  sent  to  bed  hours  before, 
was  found  by  Miss  Hilary  sitting  on  the  kitchen  stairs, 
about  four  in  the  morning.  Her  mistress  made  no  attempt 
at  reproach,  but  brought  her.  into  the  parlor  to  share  the 
silent  watch,  never  broken  except  to  make  up  the  fire  or 
light  a  fresh  candle ;  till  candles  burned  up,  and  shutters 
were  opened,  and  upon  their  great  calamity  stared  the 
broad  unwelcome  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"MISSING"— "Lost"— "To— "—all  the  initials  of  the  al- 
phabet— we  read  these  sort  of  advertisements  in  the  news- 
papers ;  and  unless  there  happens  to  be  in  them  something 
intensely  pathetic,  comical,  or  horrible,  we  think  very  little 
about  them.  Only  those  who  have  undergone  all  that  such 
an  advertisement  implies  can  understand  its  depth  of  mis- 
ery :  the  sudden  missing  of  the  person  out  of  the  home- 
circle,  whether  going  away  in  anger  or  driven  away  by  ter- 
ror or  disgrace ;  the  hour  after  hour  and  day  after  day  of 
agonized  suspense;  the  self-reproach,  real  or  imaginary, 
lest  any  thing  might  have  been  said  or  done  that  was  not 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  201 

said  or  done — any  thing  prevented  that  was  not  prevented ; 
the  gnawing  remorse  for  some  cruel,  or  careless,  or  bitter 
word,  that  could  so  easily  have  been  avoided. 

Alas !  if  people  could  only  be  made  to  feel  that  every 
word,  every  action  carries  with  it  the  weight  of  an  eterni- 
ty; that  the  merest  chance  may  make  something  said  or 
done  quite  unpremeditatedly,  in  vexation,  sullenness,  or 
spite,  the  last  action,  the  last  word ;  which  may  grow  into 
an  awful  remembrance,  rising  up  between  them  and  the 
irredeemable  past,  and  blackening  the  future  for  years ! 

Selina  was  quite  sure  her  unhappy  nephew  had  commit- 
ted suicide,  and  that  she  had  been  the  cause  of  it.  This 
conviction  she  impressed  incessantly  on  her  two  sisters  as 
they  waited  upon  her,  or  sat  talking  by  her  bedside  during 
that  long  Saturday,  when  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done. 

That  was  the  misery  of  it.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done.  They  had  not  the  slightest  clew  to  Ascott's  haunts 
or  associates.  With  the  last  lingering  of  honest  shame,  or 
honest  respect  for  his  aunts,  he  had  kept  all  these  things  to 
himself.  To  search  for  him  in  wide  London  was  altogether, 
impossible. 

Two  courses  suggested  themselves  to  Hilary — one,  to  go 
and  consult  Miss  Balquidder ;  the  other — which  came  into 
her  mind  from  some  similar  case  she  had  heard  of— to  set 
on  foot  inquiries  at  all  police-stations.  But  the  first  idea 
was  soon  rejected :  only  at  the  last  extremity  could  she 
make  patent  the  family  misery — the  family  disgrace.  To 
the  second,  similar  and  even  stronger  reasons  applied. 
There  was  something  about  the  cool,  matter-of-fact,  busi- 
ness-like act  of  setting  a  detective  officer  to  hunt  out  their 
nephew  from  which  these  poor  women  recoiled.  Besides, 
impressed  as  he  was — he  had  told  his  Aunt  Johanna  so — 
with  the  relentlessness  of  Mr.  Ascott,  might  not  the  chance 
of  his  discovering  that  he  was  hunted  drive  him  to  des- 
peration ? 

Hardly  to  suicide.  Hilary  steadfastly  disbelieved  in 
that.  When  Selina  painted  horrible  pictures  of  his  throw- 

12 


202  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

ing  himself  off  Waterloo  Bridge ;  or  being  found  hanging 
to  a  tree  in  one  of  the  parks ;  or  locking  himself  in  a  hotel 
bedchamber  and  blowing  out  his  brains,  her  younger  sister 
only  laughed — laughed  as  much  as  she  could — if  only  to 
keep  Johanna  quiet. 

Yet  she  herself  had  few  fears;  for  she  knew  that  Ascott 
was,  in  a  sense,  too  cowardly  to  kill  himself.  He  so  dis- 
liked physical  pain,  physical  unpleasantness  of  all  kinds. 
She  felt  sure  he  would  stop  short,  even  with  the  razor  or 
the  pistol  in  his  hand,  rather  than  do  a  thing  so  very  dis- 
agreeable. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  herself,  while  she  and  her  sisters 
sat  together,  hour  after  hour,  in  a  stillness  almost  like  that 
when  there  is  a  death  in  the  house,  these  morbid  terrors 
took  a  double  size.  Hilary  ceased  to  treat  them  as  ridicu- 
lous impossibilities,  but  began  to  argue  them  out  rationally. 
The  mere  act  of  doing  so  made  her  recoil ;  for  it  seemed  an 
acknowledgment  that  she  was  fighting,  not  with  chimeras, 
but  realities. 

"It  is  twenty-four  hours  since  he  went,"  she  reasoned. 
"If  he  had  done  any  thing  desperate  he  would  have  done 
it  at  once,  and  we  should  have  heard  of  it  long  before  now  ; 
ill  news  always  travels  fast.  Besides,  his  name  was  marked 
on  all  his  clothes  in  full.  I  did  it  myself.  And  his  coat- 
pockets  were  always  stuffed  with  letters ;  he  used  to  cram 
them  in  as  soon  as  he  got  them,  you  know." 

And  at  this  small  remembrance  of  one  of  his  "  ways," 
even  though  it  was  an  unkind  way,  and  had  caused  them 
many  a  pain,  from  the  want  of  confidence  it  showed,  his 
poor,  fond  aunts  turned  aside  to  hide  their  starting  tears. 
The  very  phrase  "  he  used  to"  seemed  such  an  unconscious 
admission  that  his  life  with  them  was  over  and  done — that 
he  never  would  either  please  them  or  vex  them  any  more. 

Yet  they  took  care  that  during  the  whole  day  every 
thing  should  be  done  as  if  he  were  expected  minute  by 
minute:  that  Elizabeth  should  lay  the  fourth  knife  and 
fork  at  dinner,  the  fourth  cup  and  saucer  at  tea.  Eliza- 
beth, who  throughout  had  faithfully  kept  her  pledge;  who 


MISTKESS    AND   MAID.  203 

went  about  silently  and  unobservantly,  and  by  every  means 
in  her  power  put  aside  the  curiosity  of  Mrs.  Jones  as  to 
what  could  be  the  reason  that  her  lodgers  had  sat  up  all 
night,  and  what  on  earth  had  become  of  young  Mr.  Leaf. 

After  tea,  Johanna,  quite  worn  out,  consented  to  go  to 
bed ;  and  then  Hilary,  left  to  her  own  responsibility,  set 
herself  to  consider  how  long  this  dreadful  quietness  was 
to  last,  whether  nothing  could  be  done.  She  could  endure 
whatever  was  inevitable,  but  it  was  against  her  nature  as 
well  as  her  conscience  to  sit  down  tamely  to  endure  any 
thing  whatsoever  till  it  did  become  inevitable. 

In  the  first  place,  she  determined  on  that  which  a  certain 
sense  of  honor,  as  well  as  the  fear  of  vexing  him  should  he 
come  home,  had  hitherto  prevented — the  examining  of  As- 
cott's  room,  drawers,  clothes,  and  papers.  It  was  a  very 
dreary  business — almost  like  doing  the  like  to  a  person 
who  was  dead,  only  without  the  sad  sanctity  that  belongs 
to  the  dead,  whose  very  errors  are  forgotten  and  forgiven, 
Avho  can  neither  suffer  nor  make  others  suffer  any  more. 

Many  things  she  found,  and  more  she  guessed  at — things 
which  stabbed  her  to  the  heart,  things  that  she  never  told, 
not  even  to  Johanna;  but  she  found  no  clew  whatever 
to  Ascott's  whereabouts,  intentions,  or  connections.  One 
thing,  however,  struck  her — that  most  of  his  clothes,  and 
all  his  somewhat  extensive  stock  of  jewelry,  were  gone; 
every  thing,  in  short,  that  could  be  convertible  into  money. 
It  was  evident  that  his  flight,  sudden  as  it  was,  had  been 
premeditated  as  at  least  a  possibility. 

This  so  far  was  satisfactory.  It  took  away  the  one 
haunting  fear  of  his  committing  suicide,  and  made  it  like- 
ly that  he  was  still  lingering  about,  hiding  from  justice 
and  Mr.  Ascott,  or  perhaps  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to 
escape  from  England — from  the  fear  that  his  godfather, 
even  if  not  prosecuting  him,  had  the  power  and  doubtless 
the  will  completely  to  crush  his  future,  wherever  he  was 
known. 

Where  could  he  go  ?  His  aunt  tried  to  think  over  every 
word  he  had  ever  let  fall  about  America,  Australia,  or  any 


204  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

other  place  to  which  the  hopeless  outlaws  of  this  country 
fly ;  but  she  could  recollect  nothing  to  enable  her  to  form 
any  conclusion.  One  thing  only  she  was  sure  of— that  if 
once  he  went  away,  his  own  words  would  come  true ;  they 
would  never  see  his  face  again.  The  last  tie,  the  last  con- 
straint that  bound  him  to  home  and  a  steady,  righteous  life 
would  be  broken :  he  would  go  all  adrift,  be  tossed  hither 
and  thither  on  every  wave  of  circumstance — what  he  called 
circumstance — till  Heaven  only  knew  what  a  total  wreck 
he  might  speedily  become,  or  in  what  forlorn  and  far-off 
seas  his  ruined  life  might  go  down.  He,  Ascott  Leaf,  the 
last  of  the  name  and  family. 

"  It  can  not  be ;  it  shall  not  be  1"  cried  Hilary.  A  sharp, 
bitter  cry  of  resistance  to  the  death  ;  and  her  heart  seemed 
to  go  out  to  the  wretched  boy,  and  her  hands  to  clutch  at 
him,  as  if  he  were  drowning,  and  she  were  the  only  one  to 
save  him.  How  could  she  do  it  ? 

If  she  could  only  get  at  him  by  word  or  letter !  But 
that  seemed  impossible,  until,  turning  over  scheme  after 
scheme,  she  suddenly  thought  of  the  one  which  so  many 
people  had  tried  in  similar  circumstances,  and  which  she 
remembered  they  had  talked  over  and  laughed  over,  they 
and  Ascott,  one  Sunday  evening  not  so  very  long  ago. 
This  was — a  Times  advertisement. 

The  difficulty  how  to  word  it,  so  as  to  catch  his  attention 
and  yet  escape  publicity,  was  very  great,  especially  as  his 
initials  were  so  common.  Hundreds  of  "A.  L.V  might  be 
wandering  away  from  home,  to  whom  all  that  she  dared 
say  to  call  Ascott  back  would  equally  apply.  At  last  a 
bright  thought  struck  her. 

"A.  leaf"  (with  a  small  I)  "will  be  quite  safe  wherever 
found.  Come.  Saturday.  15." 

As  she  wrote  it — this  wretched  double- entendre — she 
was  seized  with  that  sudden  sense  of  the  ludicrous  which 
sometimes  intrudes  in  such  a  ghastly  fashion  in  the  very 
midst  of  great  misery.  She  burst  into  uncontrollable  laugh- 
ter, fit  after  fit ;  so  violent  that  Elizabeth,  who  came  in  by 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  205 

chance,  was  terrified  out  of  her  wits,  and,  kneeling  beside 
her  mistress,  implored  her  to  be  quiet.  At  last  the  par- 
oxysm ended  in  complete  exhaustion.  The  tension  of  the 
last  twenty -four  hours  had  given  way,  and  Hilary  knew 
her  strength  was  gone.  Yet  the  advertisement  ought  to 
be  taken  to  the  Times  office  that  very  night,  in  order  to 
be  inserted  without  fail  on  Monday  morning. 

There  was  but  one  person  whom  she  could  trust — Eliza- 
beth. 

She  looked  at  the  girl,  who  was  kneeling  beside  the  sofa, 
rubbing  her  feet,  and  sometimes  casting  a  glance  round,  in 
the  quiet  way  of  one  well  used  to  nursing,  who  can  find 
out  how  the  sufferer  is  without  "  fussing"  with  questions. 
She  noticed,  probably  because  she  had  seen  little  of  her 
of  late,  a  curious  change  in  Elizabeth.  It  must  have  been 
gradual,  but  yet  its  result  had  never  been  so  apparent  be- 
fore. Her  brusqueness  had  softened  down,  and  there  had 
come  into  her  and  shone  out  of  her,  spite  of  all  her  natural 
uncomeliness  of  person,  that  beautiful,  intangible  some- 
thing, common  alike  to  peasant  and  queen,  as  clear  to  see 
and  as  sad  to  miss  in  both — womanliness.  Added  thereto 
was  the  gentle  composure  of  mien  which  almost  invariably 
accompanied  it,  which  instinctively  makes  you  feel  that  in 
great  things  or  small,  whatever  the  woman  has  to  do,  she 
will  do  it  in  the  womanliest,  wisest,  and  best  way. 

So  thought  Miss  Hilary  as  she  lay  watching  her  servant, 
and  then  explained  to  her  the  errand  upon  which  she  wished 
to  send  her. 

Not  much  explanation,  for  she  merely  gave  her  the  ad- 
vertisement to  read,  and  told  her  what  she  wished  done 
with  it.  And  Elizabeth,  on  her  part,  asked  no  questions, 
but  simply  listened  and  obeyed. 

After  she  was  gone  Hilary  lay  on  the  sofa  passive  and 
motionless.  Her  strength  and  activity  seemed  to  have 
collapsed  at  once  into  that  heavy  quietness  which  comes 
when  one  has  endured  to  the  utmost  limit  of  endurance, 
when  one  feels  as  if  to  speak  a  word  or  to  lift  a  finger 
would  be  as  much  as  life  was  worth. 


206  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  go  to  sleep  !"  was  all  she  thought. 

By-and-by  sleep  did  come,  and  she  was  taken  far  away 
out  of  these  miseries.  By  the  strange  peculiarity  of  dreams, 
that  we  so  seldom  dream  about  any  grief  that  oppresses  us 
at  the  time,  but  generally  of  something  quite  different,  she 
thought  she  was  in  some  known  unknown  land,  lovely  and 
beautiful,  with  blue  hills  rising  in  the  distance,  and  blue 
seas  creeping  and  curling  on  to  the  shore.  On  this  shore 
she  was  walking  with  Robert  Lyon,  just  as  he  used  to  be, 
with  his  true  face  and  honest  voice.  He  did  not  talk  to 
her  much  ;  but  she  felt  him  there,  and  knew  they  had  but 
"one  heart  between  them."  A  heart  which  had  never 
once  swerved,  either  from  the  other;  a  heart  whole  and 
sound,  into  which  the  least  unfaith  had  never  come — that 
had  never  known,  or  recognized  even  as  a  possibility,  the 
one  first  doubt,  the  ominous 

"  Little  rift  within  the  lute, 
That  by-and-by  will  make  the  music  mute, 
And,  ever  widening,  slowly  silence  all." 

Is  it  ever  so  in  this  world  ?  Does  God  ever  bring  the 
faithful  man  to  the  faithful  woman,  and  make  them  love 
one  another  with  a  righteous,  holy,  persistent  tenderness, 
which  dare  look  in  His  face,  nor  be  ashamed ;  which  sees 
in  this  life  only  the  beginning  of  the  life  to  come;  and  in 
the  closest,  most  passionate  human  love  something  to  be 
held  with  a  loose  hand,  something  frail  as  glass  and  brittle 
as  straw,  unless  it  is  perfected  and  sanctified  -by  the  love 
divine? 

Hilary  at  least  believed  so.  And  when,  at  Elizabeth's 
knock,  she  woke  with  a  start,  and  saw — not  the  sweet  sea- 
shore and  Robert  Lyon,  but  the  dull  parlor,  and  the  last 
flicker  of  the  fire,  she  thanked  God  that  her  dream  was  not 
all  a  jdream — that,  sharp  as  her  misery  was,  it  did  not  touch 
this — the  love  of  her  heart :  she  believed  in  Robert  Lyon 
still. 

And  so  she  rose  and  spoke  quite  cheerfully,  asking  Eliza- 
beth how  she  had  managed,  and  whether  the  advertisement 
would  be  sure  to  be  in  on  Monday  morning. 


MISTEESS   AND    MAID.  207 

"Yes,  Miss  Hilary;  it  is  sure  to  be  all  right." 

And  then  the  girl  hung  about  the  room  in  an  uneasy 
way,  as  if  she  had  something  to  tell,  which  was  the  fact. 

Elizabeth  had  had  an  adventure.  It  was  a  new  thing  in 
her  monotonous  life ;  it  brightened  her  eyes,  and  flushed 
her  cheeks,  and  made  her  old  nervousness  of  manner  re- 
turn. More  especially  as  she  was  somewhat  perplexed, 
being  divided  in  her  mind  between  the  wish  she  had  to 
tell  her  mistress  every  thing,  and  the  fear  to  trouble  her, 
at  this  troublous  time,  with  any  small  matter  that  merely 
concerned  herself. 

The  matter  was  this.  When  she  had  given  in  her  ad- 
vertisement at  the  Times  office,  and  was  standing  behind 
the  counter  waiting  for  her  change  and  receipt,  there  stood 
beside  her  a  young  man,  also  waiting.  She  had  hardly 
noticed  him,  till  on  his  talking  to  the  clerk  about  some 
misprint  in  his  advertisement,  apparently  one  of  the  great 
column  of  "Want  Places,"  her  ear  was  caught  by  the  un- 
mistakable Stowbnry  accent. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  heard  it  since  she  left  home, 
and  to  Elizabeth's  tenacious  nature  home  in  absence  had 
gained  an  additional  charm,  had  grown  to  be  the  one  place 
in  the  world  about  which  her  affections  clung.  In  thesa 
dreary  wilds  of  London,  to  hear  a  Stowbury  tongue,  to 
catch  sight  of  a  Stowbury  person,  or  even  one  who  might 
know  Stowbury,  made  her  heart  leap  up  with  a  bound  of 
joy.  She  turned  suddenly,  and  looked  intently  at  the 
young  man,  or  rather  the  lad,  for  he  seemed  a  mere  lad, 
small,  slight,  and  whiskerless. 

"  Well,  miss,  I  hope  you'll  know  me  again  next  time," 
said  the  young  fellow.  At  which  remark  Elizabeth  saw 
that  he  was  neither  so  young  nor  so  simple  as  she  had  at 
first  thought.  She  drew  back,  very  much  ashamed,  and 
coloring  deeply. 

Now,  if  Elizabeth  ever  looked  any  thing  like  comely,  it 
was  when  she  blushed ;  for  she  had  the  delicate  skin  pe- 
culiar to  the  young  women  of  her  district,  and  when  the 
blood  rushed  through  it,  no  cheek  of  lady  fair  ever  assumed 


208  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

a  brighter  rose.  That,  or  the  natural  vanity  of  man  in  be- 
ing  noticed  by  woman,  caught  the  youth's  attention. 

"  Come,  now,  miss,  don't  be  shy  or  offended.  Perhaps 
I'm  going  your  way?  Would  you  like  company  home?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Elizabeth,  with  great  dignity. 

"  Well,  won't  you  even  tell  a  fellow  your  name  ?  Mine's 
Tom  Cliffe,  and  I  live—" 

"  Cliffe  !  Are  you  little  Tommy  Cliffe,  and  do  you  come 
from  Stowbury  ?" 

And  all  Elizabeth's  heart  was  in  her  eyes. 

As  has  been  said,  she  was  of  a  specially  tenacious  nature. 
She  liked  few  people,  but  those  she  did  like  she  held  very 
fast.  Almost  the  only  strong  interest  of  her  life,  except 
Miss  Hilary,  had  been  the  little  boy  whom  she  had  snatched 
from  under  the  horse's  heels ;  and  though  he  was  rather  a 
scapegrace,  and  cared  little  for  her,  and  his  mother  was  a 
decidedly  objectionable  woman,  she  had  clung  to  them 
both  firmly  till  she  lost  sight  of  them. 

Now  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  she  should  recognize 
in  this  London  stranger  the  little  lad  whose  life  she  had 
saved — a  lad,  too,  from  her  beloved  Stowbury — without 
a  certain  amount  of  emotion,  at  which  the  individual  in 
question  broadly  stared. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  I  am  Tommy  Cliffe  from  Stowbury, 
sure  enough.  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Elizabeth  Hand." 

Whereupon  ensued  a  most  friendly  greeting.  Tom  de- 
clared he  should  have  known  her  any  where,  and  had  never 
forgotten  her — never!  How  far  that  was  true  or  not,  he 
certainly  looked  as  if  it  were ;  and  two  great  tears  of 
pleasure  dimmed  Elizabeth's  kind  eyes. 

"  You've  grown  a  man  now,  Tommy,"  said  she,  looking 
at  him  with  a  sort  of  half-maternal  pride,  and  noticing  his 
remarkably  handsome  and  intelligent  face ;  so  intelligent 
that  it  would  have  attracted  notice,  though  it  was  set  upon 
broad,  stooping  shoulders,  and  a  small,  slight  body.  "  Let 
me  see — how  old  are  you  ?" 

"  I'm  nineteen,  I  think." 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  209 

"And  I'm  two-and-twenty.  How  aged  we  are  growing !" 
said  Elizabeth  with  a  smile. 

Then  she  asked  after  Mrs.  Cliffe,  but  got  only  the  brief 
answer,  "Mother's  dead,"  given  in  a  tone  as  if  no  more  in- 
quiries would  be  welcome.  His  two  sisters,  also,  had  died 
of  typhus  in  one  week,  and  Tom  had  been  "  on  his  own 
hcok,"  as  he  expressed  it,  for  the  last  three  years. 

He  was  extremely  frank  and  confidential ;  told  how  he 
had  begun  life  as  a  printer's  "  devil,"  afterwards  become  a 
compositor,  and  his  health  failing,  had  left  the  trade,  and 
gone  as  a  servant  to  a  literary  gentleman. 

"An  uncommon  clever  fellow  is  master;  keeps  his  car- 
riage, and  has  dukes  to  dinner,  all  out  of  his  books.  Maybe 
you've  heard  of  them,  Elizabeth  ?"  and  he  named  a  few,  in  a 
patronizing  way  ;  at  which  Elizabeth  smiled,  for  she  knew 
them  well.  But  she  nevertheless  regarded  with  a  certain 
awe  the  servant  of  so  great  a  man,  and  "  little  Tommy 
Cliffe"  took  a  new  importance  in  her  eyes. 

Also,  as  he  walked  with  her  along  the  street  to  find  an 
omnibus,  she  could  not  help  perceiving  what  a  sharp  little 
fellow  he  had  grown  into;  how,  like  many  another  printer's 
boy,  he  had  caught  the  influence  of  the  atmosphere  of  let- 
ters, and  was  educated — self-educated,  of  course — to  a  de- 
gree far  beyond  his  position.  When  she  looked  at  him,  and 
listened  to  him,  Elizabeth  involuntarily  thought  of  Benaja- 
min  Franklin,  and  of  many  more  who  had  raised  themselves 
from  the  ink-pot  and  the  compositor's  desk  to  fame  and 
eminence,  and  she  fancied  that  such  might  be  the  lot  of 
"  little  Tommy  Cliffe."  Why  not  ?  If  so,  how  excessively 
proud  she  should  be  ! 

For  the  moment  she  had  forgotten  her  errand ;  forgot- 
ten even  Miss  Hilary.  It  was  not  till  Tom  Cliffe  asked 
her  where  she  lived  that  she  suddenly  recollected  her  mis- 
tress might  not  like,  under  present  circumstances,  that  their 
abode  or  any  thing  concerning  them  should  be  known  to  a 
Stowbury  person. 

It  was  a  struggle.  She  would  have  liked  to  see  the  lad 
again ;  have  liked  to  talk  over  with  him  Stowbury  things 


210  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

and  Stowbury  people ;  but  she  felt  she  ought  not,  and  she 
would  not. 

"Tell  me  where  you  live,  Tom,  and  that  will  do  just  as 
well — at  least  till  I  speak  to  my  mistress.  I  never  had  a 
visitor  before,  and  my  mistress  might  not  like  it." 

"  No  followers  allowed,  eh  ?" 

Elizabeth  laughed.  The  idea  of  little  Tommy  Cliffe  as 
her  "  follower"  seemed  so  very  funny. 

So  she  bade  him  good-by;  having,  thanks  to  his  gay 
frankness,  been  made  acquainted  with  all  about  him,  but 
leaving  him  in  perfect  ignorance  concerning  herself  and  her 
mistress.  She  only  smiled  when  he  declared  contemptu- 
ously, and  with  rather  a  romantic  emphasis,  that  he  would 
hunt  her  out,  though  it  were  half  over  London. 

This  was  all  her  adventure.  When  she  came  to  tell  it, 
it  seemed  very  little  to  tell,  and  Miss  Hilary  listened  to  it 
rather  indifferently,  trying  hard  to  remember  who  Tommy 
Cliffe  was,  and  to  take  an  interest  in  him  because  he  came 
from  Stowbury.  But  Stowbury  days  were  so  far  off  now 
— with  such  a  gulf  of  pain  between. 

Suddenly  the  same  fear  occurred  to  her  that  had  occurred 
to  Elizabeth. 

"  The  lad  did  not  see  the  advertisement,  I  hope  ?  You 
did  not  tell  him  about  us  ?" 

"  I  told  him  nothing,"  said  Elizabeth,  speaking  softly, 
and  looking  down.  "  I  did  not  mention  even  any  body's 
name." 

"  That  was  right :  thank  you." 

But  oh,  the  bitterness  of  knowing,  and  feeling  sure  Eliz- 
abeth knew  too,  the  thing  for  which  she  thanked  her;  and 
that  not  to  mention  Ascott's  name  was  the  greatest  kind- 
ness the  faithful  servant  could  show  toward  the  family. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  211 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ASCOTT  LEAF  never  came  home. 

Day  after  day  appeared  the  advertisement,  sometimes 
slightly  altered,  as  hope  or  fear  suggested ;  but  no  word,  no 
letter,  no  answer  of  any  kind  reached  the  anxious  women. 

By-and-by,  moved  by  their  distress,  or  perhaps  feeling 
that  the  scapegrace  would  be  safer  got  rid  of  if  found 
and  dispatched  abroad  in  some  decent  manner,  Mr.  Ascott 
himself  took  measures  for  privately  continuing  the  search. 
Every  outward-bound  ship  was  examined ;  every  hospital 
visited;  every  case  of  suicide  investigated;  but  in  vain. 
The  unhappy  young  man  had  disappeared,  suddenly  and 
completely,  as  many  another  has  disappeared,  out  of  the 
home-circle,  and  been  never  heard  of  more. 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  a  family  can  possibly 
bear  such  a  sorrow,  did  we  not  know  that  many  have  had 
to  bear  it,  and  have  borne  it,  with  all  its  load  of  agonizing 
suspense,  slowly  dying  hope, 

"The  hope  that  keeps  alive  despair," 

settling  down  into  a  permanent  grief,  compared  to  which 
the  grief  for  loss  by  death  is  light  and  endurable. 

The  Leaf  family  went  through  all  this.  Was  it  better  or 
worse  for  them  that  their  anguish  had  to  be  secret  ?  that 
there  were  no  friends  to  pity,  inquire,  or  console  ?  that  Jo- 
hanna had  to  sit  hour  by  hour  and  day  by  day  in  the  sol- 
itary parlor,  Selina  having  soon  gone  back  to  her  old  ways 
of  "  gadding  about"  and  her  marriage  preparations ;  and 
that,  hardest  of  all,  Hilary  had  on  the  Monday  morning  to 
return  to  Kensington,  and  work,  work,  work,  as  nothing 
were  amiss  ? 

But  it  was  natural  that  all  this  should  tell  upon  her ;  and 
one  day  Miss  Balquidder  said,  after  a  long  covert  obser- 
vation of  her  face-  "My  dear,  you  look  ill.  Is  there  any 


212  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

thing  troubling  you?  My  young  people  always  tell  me 
their  troubles,  bodily  or  mental.  I  doctor  both." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Hilary,  with  a  sad  smile,  but  en- 
tered into  no  explanation,  and  Miss  Balquidder  had  the 
wise  kindliness  to  inquire  no  further.  Nevertheless,  on 
some  errand  or  other  she  came  to  Kensington  nearly  ev- 
ery evening,  and  took  Hilary  back  with  her  to  sleep  at 
No.  15. 

"  Your  sister  Selina  must  wish  to  have  you  with  her  as 
much  as  possible  till  she  is  married,"  she  said,  as  a  reason 
for  doing  this. 

And  Hilary  acquiesced,  but  silently,  as  we  often  do  ac- 
quiesce in  what  ought  to  be  a  truth,  but  which  we  know  to 
be  the  saddest,  most  painful  falsehood. 

For  Selina,  it  became  plain  to  see,  was  one  of  the  family 
no  more.  After  her  first  burst  of  self-reproachful  grief  she 
took  Mr.  Ascott's  view  of  her  nephew's  loss — that  it  was  a 
good  riddance ;  went  on  calmly  with  her  bridal  prepara- 
tions, and  seemed  only  afraid  lest  any  thing  should  inter- 
fere to  prevent  her  marriage. 

But  the  danger  was  apparently  tided  over.  No  news 
of  Ascott  came.  Even  the  daily  inquiries  for  him  by  his 
creditors  had  ceased.  His  aunt  Selina  was  beginning  to 
breathe  freely,  when,  the  morning  before  the  wedding-day, 
as  they  were  all  sitting  in  the  midst  of  white  finery,  but  as 
sadly  and  silently  as  if  it  were  a  funeral,  a  person  was  sud- 
denly shown  in  "  on  business." 

It  was  a  detective  officer  sent  to  find  out  from  Ascott 
Leaf's  aunts  whether  a  certain  description  of  him,  in  a 
printed  hand-bill,  was  correct ;  for  his  principal  creditor, 
exasperated,  had  determined  on  thus  advertising  him  in 
the  public  papers  as  having  "absconded." 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  in  the  little  parlor  the  three 
aunts  could  not  have  been  more  utterly  overwhelmed. 
They  made  no  "  scene" — a  certain  sense  of  pride  kept  these 
poor  gentlewomen  from  betraying  their  misery  to  a  strange 
man  ;  though  he  was  a  very  civil  man,  and  having  delivered 
himself  of  his  errand,  like  an  automaton,  sat  looking  into 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  213 

his  hat,  and  taking  no  notice  of  aught  around  him.  He 
was  accustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing. 

Hilary  was  the  first  to  recover  herself.  She  glanced 
round  at  her  sisters,  but  they  had  not  a  word  to  say.  In 
any  crisis  of  family  difficulty  they  always  left  her  to  take 
the  helm. 

Rapidly  she  ran  over  in  her  mind  all  the  consequences 
that  would  arise  from  this  new  trouble — the  public  dis- 
grace ;  Mr.  Ascott's  anger  and  annoyance — not  that  she 
cared  much  for  this,  except  so  far  as  it  would  affect  Selina; 
lastly,  the  death-blow  it  was  to  any  possible  hope  of  re- 
claiming the  poor  prodigal,  who  she  did  not  believe  was 
dead,  but  still  fondly  trusted  would  return  one  day  from 
his  wanderings  and  his  swine's  husks  to  have  the  fatted 
calf  killed  for  him  and  glad  tears  shed  over  him.  But  after 
being  advertised  as  "  absconded,"  Ascott  never  would,  nev- 
er could  come  home  any  more. 

Taking  as  cool  and  business-like  a  tone  as  she  could,  she 
returned  the  paper  to  the  detective. 

"This  is  a  summary  proceeding.  Is  there  no  way  of 
avoiding  it  ?" 

"One,  miss,"  replied  the  man,  very  respectfully.  "If 
the  family  would  pay  the  debt." 

"  Do  you  know  how  much  it  is  ?" 

"Eighty  pounds." 

"Ah!" 

That  hopeless  sigh  01  Johanna's  was  sufficient  answer, 
though  no  one  spoke. 

But  in  desperate  cases  some  women  acquire  a  desperate 
courage,  or  rather  it  is  less  courage  than  faith — the  faith 
which  is  said  to  "  remove  mountains" — the  belief  that  to 
the  very  last  there  must  be  something  to  be  done,  and,  if 
it  can  be  done,  they  will  have  strength  to  do  it.  True,  the 
mountain  may  not  be  removed,  but  the  mere  act  of  faith 
or  courage  sometimes  teaches  how  to  climb  over  it. 

"  Very  well.  Take  this  paper  back  to  your  employer. 
He  must  be  aware  that  his  only  chance  of  payment  is  by 
suppressing  it.  If  he  will  do  that,  in  two  clavs  he  shall 


214  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

hear  from  us,  and  we  will  make  arrangements  about  pay- 
ing the  debt." 

Hilary  said  this  to  her  sisters'  utter  astonishment ;  so 
utter  that  they  let  her  say  it,  and  let  the  detective  go 
away  with  a  civil  "  Good-morning,"  before  they  could  in- 
terfere or  contradict  by  a  word. 

"  Paying  the  debt !  Hilary,  what  have  you  promised  ! 
It  is  an  impossibility." 

"Like  the  Frenchman's  answer  to  his  mistress — 'Ma- 
dame, if  it  had  been  possible  it  would  have  been  done  al- 
ready ;  if  it  is  impossible,  it  shall  be  done.'  It  shall,  I 
say." 

"  I  wonder  you  can  jest  about  our  misfortunes,"  said  Se- 
lina,  in  her  most  querulous  voice. 

"I'm  not  jesting.  But  where  is  the  use  of  sitting  down 
to  moan  !  I  mean  what  I  say.  The  thing  must  be  done." 

Her  eyes  glittered — her  small,  red  lips  were  set  tightly 
together. 

"If  it  is  not  ^done,  sisters — if  his  public  disgrace  is  not 
prevented,  don't  you  see  the  result  ?  Not  as  regards  your 
marriage,  Selina — the  man  must  be  a  coward  who  would 
refuse  to  marry  a  woman  he  cared  for,  even  though  her 
nearest  kinsman  had  been  hanged  at  the  Old  Bailey — but 
Ascott  himself.  The  boy  is  not  a  bad  boy,  though  he  has 
done  wickedly ;  but  there  is  a  difference  between  a  wick- 
ed act  and  a  wicked  nature.  I  mean  to  save  him  if  I  can." 

"  How  ?" 

"By  saving  his  good  name;  by  paying  the  debt." 

"  And  where  on  earth  shall  you  get  the  money  ?" 

"  I  will  go  to  Miss  Balquidder  and — " 

"Borrow  it?" 

"  No,  never !     I  would  as  soon  think  of  stealing  it." 

Then  controlling  herself,  Hilary  explained  that  she  meant 
to  ask  Miss  Balquidder  to  arrange  for  her  withthe  creditor 
to  pay  the  eighty  pounds  by  certain  weekly  or  monthly  in- 
stallments, to  be  deducted  from  her  salary  at  Kensington. 

"  It  is  not  a  very  great  favor  to  ask  of  her — merely  that 
she  should  say, '  This  young  woman  is  employed  by  me ; 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  215 

I  believe  her  to  be  honest,  respectable,  and  so  forth ;  also, 
that  when  she  makes  a  promise  to  pay,  she  will  to  the  best 
of  her  power  perform  it.'  A  character  which  is  at  present 
rather  a  novelty  in  the  Leaf  family." 

"  Hilary  !" 

"I  am  growing  bitter,  Johanna,  I  know  I  am.  Why 
should  we  suffer  so  much?  Why  should  we  be  always 
dragged  down  —  down  —  in  this  way?  Why  should  we 
never  have  had  any  one  to  cherish  and  take  care  of  us,  like 
other  women  ?  Why — " 

Miss  Leaf  laid  her  finger  on  her  child's  lips — 

"  Because  it  is  the  will  of  God." 

Hilary  flung  herself  on  her  dear  old  sister's  neck,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

Selina  too  cried  a  little,  and  said  that  she  should  like  to 
help  in  paying  the  debt  if  Mr.  Ascott  had  no  objection. 
And  then  she  turned  back  to  her  white  splendors,  and  be- 
came absorbed  in  the  annoyance  of  there  being  far  too 
much  clematis  and  far  too  little  orange-blossom  in  the  bri- 
dal bonnet — which  it  was  now  too  late  to  change.  A  lit- 
tle, also,  she  vexed  herself  about  the  risk  of  confiding  in 
Miss  Balquidder,  lest  by  any  chance  the  story  might  get 
round  to  Russell  Square ;  and  was  urgent  that  at  least 
nothing  should  be  said  or  done  until  after  to-morrow.  She 
was  determined  to  be  married,  and  dreaded  any  slip  be- 
tween the  cup  and  the  lip. 

But  Hilary  was  resolute.  "I  said  that  in  two  days  the 
matter  should  be  arranged,  and  so  it  must  be,  or  the  man 
will  think  we  too  break  our  promises." 

"You  can  assure  him  to  the  contrary,"  said  Selina,  with 
dignity.  "In  fact,  why  can't  you  arrange  with  him  with- 
out going  at  all  to  Miss  Balquidder?" 

Again  the  fierce,  bitter  expression  returned  to  Hilary's 
face. 

"  You  forget,  Miss  Balquidder's  honest  name  is  his  only 
guarantee  against  the  dishonesty  of  ours." 

"Hilary,  you  disgrace  us  —  disgrace  me — speaking  in 
such  a  way.  Are  we  not  gentlewomen  ?" 


216  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

"I  don't  know,  Selina.  I  don't  seem  to  know  or  to  feel 
any  thing,  except  that  I  would  live  on  bread  and  water  in 
order  to  live  peaceably  and  honestly.  Oh !  \vill  it  ever, 
ever  be  ?" 

She  walked  up  and  down  the  parlor,  disarranging  the 
white  draperies  which  lay  about,  feeling  unutterable  con- 
tempt for  them  and  for  her  sister.  Angry  and  miserable, 
with  every  nerve  quivering,  she  was  at  war  with  the  whole 
wTorld. 

This  feeling  lasted  even  when,  after  some  discussion,  she 
gained  her  point,  and  was  on  her  way  to  call  on  Miss  Bal- 
quidder.  She  went  round  and  round  the  square  many 
times,  trying  to  fix  in  her  mind  word  for  word  what  she 
meant  to  say;  revealing  no  more  of  the  family  history  than 
was  absolutely  necessary,  and  stating  her  business  in  the 
briefest,  hardest,  most  matter-of-fact  way — putting  it  as  a 
transaction  between  employer  and  employed,  in  which 
there  was  no  more  favor  asked  or  bestowed  than  could 
possibly  be  avoided.  And  as  the  sharp  east  wind  blew 
across  her  at  every  corner,  minute  by  minute  she  felt  her- 
self growing  more  fierce,  and  hard,  and  cold. 

"  This  will  never  do.  I  shall  be  wicked  by-and-by.  I 
must  go  in  and  get  it  over." 

Perhaps  it  was  as  well.  Well  for  her,  morally  as  phys- 
ically, that  there  should  have  been  that  sudden  change 
from  the  blighting  weather  outside  to  the  warm,  well-light- 
ed room,  where  the  good  rich  woman  sat  at  her  early  and 
solitary  tea. 

Very  solitary  it  looked — the  little  table  in  the  centre  of 
that  large,  handsome  parlor,  with  the  one  cup  and  saucer, 
the  one  easy-chair.  And  as  Hilary  entered  she  noticed, 
amid  all  this  comfort  and  luxury,  the  still,  grave,  almost 
sad  expression  which  solitary  people  always  get  to  wear. 

But  the  next  minute  Miss  Balquidder  had  turned  round, 
and  risen,  smiling. 

"Miss  Leaf,  how  very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  me ! 
Just  the  day  before  the  wedding,  too,  when  you  must  be 
so  busy  !  Sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  But  first,  my 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  217 

dear,  how  wet  your  boots  are  !  Let  me  take  them  off  at 
once." 

Which  she  did,  sending  for  her  own  big  slippers,  and 
putting  them  on  the  tiny  feet  with  her  own  hands. 

Hilary  submitted — in  truth,  she  was  too  much  surprised 
to  resist. 

Miss  Balquidder  had,  like  most  folk,  her  opinions  or 
"crotchets" — as  they  might  be — and  one  of  them  was,  to 
keep  her  business  and  friendly  relations  entirely  distinct 
and  apart.  Whenever  she  went  to  Kensington  or  her  oth- 
er establishments  she  was  always  emphatically  "  the  mis- 
tress"— a  kindly  and  even  motherly  mistress  certainly,  but 
still  authoritative,  decided.  Moreover,  it  was  her  invaria- 
ble rule  to  treat  all  her  employes  alike — "  making  no  step- 
bairns"  among  them.  Thus  for  some  time  it  had  happened 
that  Hilary  had  been,  and  felt  herself  to  be,  just  Miss  Leaf, 
the  book-keeper,  doing  her  duty  to  Miss  Balquidder,  her 
employer,  and  neither  expecting  nor  attaining  any  closer 
relation. 

But  in  her  own  house,  or  it  might  be  from  the  sudden 
apparition  of  that  young  face  at  her  lonely  fireside,  Miss 
Balquidder  appeared  quite  different. 

A  small  thing  touches  a  heart  that  is  sore  with  trouble. 
When  the  good  woman  rose  up — after  patting  the  little 
feet,  and  approving  loudly  of  the  woolen  stockings— she 
saw  that  Hilary's  whole  face  was  quivering  with  the  effort 
to  keep  back  her  tears. 

There  are  some  women  of  whom  one  feels  by  instinct 
that  they  were,  as  Miss  Balquidder  had  once  jokingly  said 
of  herself,  specially  meant  to  be  mothers.  And  though,  in 
its  strange  providence,  Heaven  often  denies  the  maternity, 
it  can  not,  and  does  not  mean  to  shut  up  the  well-spring 
of  that  maternal  passion — truly  a  passion  to  such  women 
as  these,  almost  as  strong  as  the  passion  of  love — but  lets 
the  stream,  which  might  otherwise  have  blessed  one  child 
or  one  family,  flow  out  wide  and  far,  blessing  wherever  it 
goes. 

In  a  tone  that  somehow  touched  every  fibre  of  Hilary's 

K 


218  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

heart,  Miss  Balquidder  said,  placing  her  on  a  low  chair  be« 
side  her  own, 

"My  dear,  you  are  in  trouble.  I  saw  it  a  week  or  two 
ago,  but  did  not  like  to  speak.  Couldn't  you  say  it  out, 
and  let  me  help  you  ?  You  need  not  be  afraid.  I  never 
tell  any  thing,  and  every  body  tells  every  thing  to  me." 

That  was  true.  Added  to  this  said  motherliness  of  hers, 
Miss  Balquidder  possessed  that  faculty,  which  some  peo- 
ple have  in  a  remarkable  degree,  and  some — very  good  peo- 
ple too — are  totally  deficient  in,  of  attracting  confidence. 
The  secrets  she  had  been  trusted  with,  the  romances  she 
had  been  mixed  up  in,  the  Quixotic  acts  she  had  been  called 
upon  to  perform  during  her  long  life,  would  have  made  a 
novel — or  several  novels — such  as  no  novelist  could  dare 
to  write,  for  the  public  would  condemn  them  as  impossible 
and  unnatural.  But  all  this  experience — though  happily 
it  could  never  be  put  into  a  book — had  given  to  the  wom- 
an herself  a  view  of  human  nature  at  once  so  large,  lenient, 
and  just,  that  she  was  the  best  person  possible  to  hear  the 
strange  and  pitiful  story  of  young  Ascott  Leaf. 

How  it  came  out  Hilary  hardly  knew ;  she  seemed  to 
have  told  very  little,  and  yet  Miss  Balquidder  guessed  it 
all.  It  did  not  appear  to  surprise  or  shock  her.  She  nei- 
ther began  to  question  nor  preach ;  she  only  laid  her  hand 
— her  large,  motherly,  protecting  hand,  on  the  bowed  head, 
saying, 

"  How  much  you  must  have  suffered,  my  poor  bairn  !" 

The  soft  Scotch  tone  and  word — the  grave,  quiet  Scotch 
manner,  implying  more  than  it  even  expressed — was  it 
wonderful  if  underlying  as  well  as  outside  influences  made 
Hilary  completely  give  way  ? 

Robert  Lyon  had  had  a  mother,  who  died  when  he  was 
seventeen,  but  of  whom  he  kept  the  tenderest  remembrance, 
often  saying  that  of  all  the  ladies  he  had  met  with  in  the 
world  there  was  none  equal  to  her — the  strong,  tender,  wom- 
anly peasant  woman — refined  in  mind,  and  word,  and  ways 
—though  to  the  last  day  of  her  life  she  spoke  broad  Scotch, 
and  did  the  work  of  her  cottage  with  her  own  hands.  It 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  219 

seems  as  if  that  mother — toward  whom  Hilary's  fancy  had 
clung,  lovingly  as  a  woman  ought  to  cling,  above  all  oth- 
ers, to  the  mother  of  the  man  she  loves — were  speaking  to 
her  now,  comforting  her  and  helping  her — comfort  and  help 
that  it  would  have  been  sweeter  to  receive  from  her  than 
from  any  woman  living. 

A  mere  fancy ;  but  in  her  state  of  long  uncontrolled  ex- 
citement it  took  such  possession  of  her  that  Hilary  fell  on 
her  knees,  and  hid  her  face  in  Miss  Balquidder's  lap,  sob- 
bing aloud. 

The  other  was  a  little  surprised ;  it  was  not  her  Scotch 
way  to  yield  to  emotion  before  folk  ;  but  she  was  a  wise 
woman,  she  asked  no  questions,  merely  held  the  quivering 
hands  and  smoothed  the  throbbing  head,  till  composure 
returned.  Some  people  have  a  magical,  mesmeric  power 
of  soothing  and  controlling :  it  was  hers.  When  she  took 
the  poor  face  between  her  hands,  and  looked  straight  into 
the  eyes,  with, "  There,  you  are  better  now,"  Hilary  re- 
turned the  gaze  as  steadily,  nay,  smilingly,  and  rose. 

"  Now,  may  I  tell  you  my  business  ?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear.  When  one's  friends  are  in  trouble, 
the  last  thing  one  ought  to  do  is  to  sit  down  beside  them 
and  moan.  Did  you  come  to  ask  my  advice,  or  had  you 
any  definite  plan  of  your  own  ?" 

"I  had."     And  Hilary  told  it. 

"  A  very  good  plan,  and  very  generous  in  you  to  think 
of  it.  But  I  see  two  strong  objections :  first,  whether  it 
can  be  carried  out ;  secondly,  whether  it  ought." 

Hilary  shrank,  sensitively. 

"  Not  on  my  account,  my  dear,  but  your  own.  I  often 
see  people  making  martyrs  of  themselves  for  some  worth- 
less character  on  whom  the  sacrifice  is  utterly  wasted.  I 
object  to  this,  as  I  would  object  to  throwing  myself  or  my 
friend  into  a  blazing  house,  unless  I  were  morally  certain 
there  was  a  life  to  be  saved.  Is  there  in  this  case?" 

"  I  think  there  is  !  I  trust  in  Heaven  there  is  !"  said  Hi- 
lary, earnestly. 

There  was  both  pleasure  and  pity  expressed  in  Miss  Bal- 


220  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

quidder's  countenance  as  she  replied, "  Be  it  so :  that  is  a 
matter  on  which  no  one  can  judge  except  yourself.  But 
on  the  other  matter  you  ask  my  advice,  and  I  must  give 
it.  To  maintain  two  ladies  and  pay  a  debt  of  eighty  pounds 
out  of  one  hundred  a  year  is  simply  impossible." 

"With  Johanna's  income  and  mine  it  will  be  a  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds  and  some  odd  shillings  a  year." 

"  You  accurate  girl !  But  even  with  this  it  can  not  be 
done,  unless  you  were  to  live  in  a  manner  so  restricted  in 
the  commonest  comforts  that  at  your  sister's  age  she  would 
be  sure  to  suffer.  You  must  look  on  the  question  from  all 
sides,  my  dear.  You  must  be  just  to  others  as  well  as  to 
that  young  man,  who  seems  never  to —  But  I  will  leave 
him  unjudged." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  minute,  and  then  Miss  Bal- 
quidder  said  :  "  I  feel  certain  there  is  but  one  rational  way 
of  accomplishing  the  thing,  if  you  are  bent  upon  doing  it, 
if  your  own  judgment  and  conscience  tell  you  it  ought  to 
be  done.  Is  it  so?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hilary,  firmly. 

The  old  Scotswoman  took  her  hand  with  a  warm  press- 
ure. "Very  well.  I  don't  blame  you.  I  might  have  done 
the  same  myself.  Now  to  my  plan.  Miss  Leaf,  have  you 
known  me  long  enough  to  confer  on  me  the  benediction — 
one  of  the  few  that  we  rich  folk  possess — 'It  is  more  bless- 
ed to  give  than  to  receive  ?' " 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  Then  allow  me  to  explain.  I  happen  to  know  this  cred- 
itor of  your  nephew's.  He  being  a  tailor  and  an  outfitter, 
we  have  had  dealings  together  in  former  times,  and  I  know 
him  to  be  a  hard  man,  an  unprincipled  man,  such  a  one  as 
no  young  woman  should  have  to  do  with,  even  in  business 
relations.  To  be  in  his  power,  as  you  would  be  for  some 
years  if  your  scheme  of  gradual  payment  were  carried  out, 
is  the  last  thing  I  should  desire  for  you.  Let  me  suggest 
another  way.  Take  me  for  your  creditor  instead  of  him. 
Pay  him  at  once,  and  I  will  write  you  a  check  for  the 
amount." 


MISTRESS   AND  MAID.  221 

The  thing  was  put  so  delicately,  in  such  an  ordinary 
manner,  as  if  it  were  a  mere  business  arrangement,  that  at 
first  Hilary  hardly  perceived  all  it  implied.  When  she  did 
— when  she  found  that  it  was  in  plain  terms  a  gift  or  loan 
of  eighty  pounds  offered  by  a  person  almost  a  stranger,  she 
was  at  first  quite  bewildered.  Then  (ah  !  let  us  not  blame 
her  if  she  carried  to  a  morbid  excess  that  noble  independ- 
ence which  is  the  foundation  of  all  true  dignity  in  man  or 
woman)  she  shrunk  back  into  herself,  overcome  with  an- 
noyance and  shame.  At  last  she  forced  herself  to  say, 
though  the  words  came  out  rather  coldly, 

"  You  are  very  good,  and  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to 
you  ;  but  I  never  borrowed  money  in  my  life.  It  is  quite 
impossible." 

"  Very  well ;  I  can  understand  your  feelings.  I  beg  your 
pardon,"  replied  Miss  Balquidder,  also  somewhat  coldly. 

They  sat  silent  and  awkward,  and  then  the  elder  lady 
took  out  a  pencil  and  began  to  make  calculations  in  her 
memorandum-book. 

"  I  am  reckoning  what  is  the  largest  sum  per  month  that 
you  could  reasonably  be  expected  to  spare,  and  how  you 
may  make  the  most  of  what  remains.  Are  you  aware  that 
London  lodgings  are  very  expensive  ?  I  am  thinking  that 
if  you  were  to  exchange  out  of  the  Kensington  shop  into 
another  I  have  at  Richmond,  I  could  offer  you  the  first 
floor  above  it  for  much  less  rent  than  you  pay  Mrs.  Jones, 
and  you  could  have  your  sister  living  with  you." 

"  Ah  !  that  would  make  us  both  so  much  happier !  How 
good  you  are !" 

"You  will  see  I  only  wish  to  help  you  to  help  yourself, 
not  to  put  you  under  any  obligation,  though  I  can  not 
see  any  thing  so  very  terrible  in  your  being  slightly  in- 
debted to  an  old  woman  who  has  neither  chick  nor  child, 
and  is  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  what  she  likes  with  her 
own." 

There  was  a  pathos  in  the  tone  which  smote  Hilary  into 
quick  contrition. 

"Forgive  me!     But  I  have  such  a  horror  of  borrowing 


222  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

money — you  must  know  why  after  what  I  have  told  you 
of  our  family.  You  must  surely  understand — " 

"I  do,  fully;  but  there  are  limits  even  to  independence. 
A  person  who,  for  his  own  pleasure,  is  ready  to  take  money 
from  any  body  and  every  body,  without  the  slightest  pros- 
pect or  intention  of  returning  it,  is  quite  different  from  a 
friend  who  in  a  case  of  emergency  accepts  help  from  an- 
other friend,  being  ready  and  willing  to  take  every  means 
of  repayment,  as  I  knew  you  were,  and  meant  you  to  be. 
I  meant,  as  you  suggested,  to  stop  out  of  your  salary  so 
much  per  month,  till  I  had  my  eighty  pounds  safe  back 
again." 

"But  suppose  you  never  had  it  back?  I  am  young  and 
strong;  still  I  might  fall  ill — I  might  die,  and  you  never 
be  repaid." 

"  Yes,  I  should,"  said  Miss  Balquidder,  with  a  serious 
smile.  "  You  forget,  my  dear  bairn,  ''Inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  it  to  one  of  these  little  ones,  ye  have  done  it  unto  ME.' 
''He  that  giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth  to  the  LORD.'  I  have  lent 
Him  a  good  deal  at  different  times,  and  He  has  always  paid 
me  back  with  usury." 

There  was  something  at  once  solemn  and  a  little  sad  in 
the  way  the  old  lady  spoke.  Hilary  forgot  her  own  side 
of  the  subject — her  pride,  her  humiliation. 

"  But  do  you  not  think,  Miss  Balquidder,  that  one  ought 
to  work  on,  struggle  on,  to  the  last  extremity,  before  one 
accepts  an  obligation,  most  of  all  a  money  obligation  ?" 

"  I  do,  as  a  general  principle.  Yet  money  is  not  the  great- 
est thing  in  this  world,  that  a  pecuniary  debt  should  be  the 
worst  to  bear.  And  sometimes  one  of  the  kindest  acts  you 
can  do  to  a  fellow-creature — one  that  touches  and  softens 
his  heart,  nay,  perhaps  wins  it  to  you  for  life,  is  to  accept  a 
favor  from  him." 

Hilary  made  no  reply. 

"  I  speak  a  little  from  experience.  I  have  not  had  a  very 
happy  life  myself — at  least  most  people  would  say  so  if 
they  knew  it;  but  the  Lord  has  made  it  up  to  me  by  giv- 
ing me  the  means  of  bringing  happiness,  in  money  as  well 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  223 

as  other  ways,  to  other  people.  Most  of  us  have  our  fa- 
vorite luxuries;  this  is  mine.  I  like  to  do  people  good;  I 
like,  also — though  maybe  that  is  a  mean  weakness — to  feel 
that  I  do  it.  If  all  whom  I  have  been  made  instrumental 
in  helping  had  said  to' me,  as  you  have  done, '  I  will  not  be 
helped,  I  will  not  be  made  happy,'  it  would  have  been  rath- 
er hard  for  me." 

And  a  smile,  half  humorous,  half  sad,  came  over  the  hard- 
featured  face,  spiritualizing  its  whole  expression. 

Hilary  wavered.  She  compared  her  own  life,  happy  still, 
and  hopeful,  for  all  its  cares,  with  that  of  this  lonely  wom- 
an, whose1  only  blessing  was  her  riches,  except  the  gener- 
ous heart  which  sanctified  them,  and  made  them  such. 
Humbled,  nay,  ashamed,  she  took  and  kissed  the  kindly 
hand  which  had  succored  so  many,  yet  which,  in  the  in- 
scrutable mystery  of  Providence,  had  been  left  to  go  down 
to  the  grave  alone;  missing  all  that  is  personal,  dear,  and 
precious  to  a  woman's  heart,  and  getting  instead  only  what 
Hilary  now  gave  her — the  half-sweet,  half-bitter  payment 
of  gratitude. 

"Well,  my  bairn,  what  is  to  be  done?" 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  think  right,"  murmured  Hilary. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IT  was  not  a  cheerful  morning  on  which  to  be  married. 
A  dense,  yellow,  London  fog,  the  like  of  which  the  Misses 
Leaf  had  never  yet  seen,  penetrated  into  every  corner  of 
the  parlor  at  No.  15,  where  they  were  breakfasting  dreari- 
ly by  candle-light,  all  in  their  wedding  attire.  They  had 
been  up  since  six  in  the  morning,  and  Elizabeth  had  dressed 
her  three  mistresses  one  after  the  other,  taking  exceeding 
pleasure  in  the  performance;  for  she  was  still  little  more 
than  a  girl,  to  whom  a  wedding  was  a  wedding,  and  this 
was  the  first  she  had  ever  had  to  do  with  in  her  life. 

True,  it  disappointed  her  in  some  things.  She  was  a  lit- 
tle surprised  that  last  evening  had  passed  oif  just  like  all 


224  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

other  evenings.  The  interest  and  bustle  of  packing  soon 
subsided  —  the  packing  consisting  only  of  the  traveling 
trunk,  for  the  rest  of  the  trousseau  went  straight  to  Rus- 
sell Square,  every  means  having  been  taken  to  ignore  the 
very  existence  of  No.  15;  and  then  the  three  ladies  had 
supper  as  usual,  and  went  to  bed  at  their  customary  hour, 
without  any  special  demonstration  of  emotion  or  affection. 
To  Elizabeth  this  was  strange.  She  had  not  yet  yet  learn- 
ed the  unspeakable  bitterness  of  a  parting  where  nobody 
has  any  grief  to  restrain. 

On  a  wedding  morning,  of  course,  there  is  no  time  to  be 
spared  for  sentiment.  The  principal  business  appeared  to 
be — dressing.  Mr.  Ascott  had  insisted  on  doing  his  part 
in  making  his  new  connections  appear  "  respectable"  at  his 
marriage,  and  for  Selina's  sake  they  had  consented.  In- 
deed, it  was  inevitable :  they  had  no  money  whatever  to 
clothe  themselves  withal.  They  must  either  have  accepted 
Mr.  Ascott's  gifts — in  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  was  both 
thoughtful  and  liberal — or  they  must  have  staid  away  from 
the  wedding  altogether,  which  they  did  not  like  to  do" for 
the  sake  of  the  family." 

So,  with  a  sense  of  doing  their  last  duty  by  the  sister, 
who  would  be,  they  felt,  henceforward  a  sister  no  more, 
Miss  Leaf  attired  herself  in  her  violet  silk  and  white  China 
shawl,  and  Miss  Hilary  put  on  her  silver-gray  poplin,  with 
a  cardinal  cape,  as  was  then  in  fashion,  trimmed  with  white 
swan's-down.  It  was  rather  an  elderly  costume  for  a  bride- 
maid  ;  but  she  was  determined  to  dress  warmly,  and  not 
risk,  in  muslins  and  laces,  the  health  which  to  her  now  was 
money,  life — nay,  honor. 

For  Ascott's  creditor  had  been  already  paid :  Miss  Bal- 
quidder  never  let  grass  grow  under  her  feet.  When  Hi- 
lary returned  to  her  sisters  that  day  there  was  no  longer 
any  fear  of  public  exposure ;  she  had  the  receipted  bill  in 
her  hand,  and  she  was  Miss  Balquidder's  debtor  to  the  ex- 
tent of  eighty  pounds. 

But  it  was  no  debt  of  disgrace  or  humiliation,  nor  did 
she  feel  it  as  such.  She  had  learned  the  lesson  which  the 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  225 

large-hearted  rich  can  always  teach  the  poor,  that,  while 
there  is  sometimes,  to  some  people,  no  more  galling  chain, 
there  is  to  others — and  these  are  the  highest  natures  too 
— no  more  firm  and  sacred  bond  than  gratitude.  But  still 
the  debt  was  there  ;  and  Hilary  would  never  feel  quite  easy 
till  it  was  paid — in  money,  at  least.  The  generosity  she 
never  wished  to  repay.  She  would  rather  feel  it  wrapping 
her  round,  like  an  arm  that  was  heavy  only  through  its  ex- 
ceeding tenderness,  to  the  end  of  her  days. 

Nevertheless  she  had  arranged  that  there  was  to  be  a 
regular  monthly  deduction  from  her  salary ;  and  how,  by 
retrenchment,  to  make  this  monthly  payment  as  large  as 
she  could,  was  a  question  which  had  occupied  herself  and 
Johanna  for  a  good  while  after  they  retired  to  rest,  for 
there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Mrs.  Jones  must  be  given 
notice  to;  and  there  was  another  notice  to  be  given,  if  the 
Richmond  plan  were  carried  out;  another  sad  retrench- 
ment, foreboding  which,  when  Elizabeth  brought  up  sup- 
per, Miss  Hilary  could  hardly  look  the  girl  in  the  face,  and, 
when  she  bade  her  good-night,  had  felt  almost  like  a  secret 
conspirator. 

For  she  knew  that,  if  the  money  to  clear  this  debt  was 
to  be  saved,  they  must  part  with  Elizabeth. 

No  doubt  the  personal  sacrifice  would  be  considerable, 
for  Hilary  would  have  to  do  the  work  of  their  two  rooms 
with  her  own  hands,  and  give  up  a  hundred  little  comforts 
in  which  Elizabeth,  now  become  a  most  clever  and  efficient 
servant,  had  made  herself  necessary  to  them  both.  But 
the  two  ladies  did  not  think  of  that  at  the  moment ;  they 
only  thought  of  the  pain  of  parting  with  her.  They  thought 
of  it  sorely,  even  though  she  was  but  a  servant,  and  there 
was  a  family  parting  close  at  hand.  Alas  !  people  must 
take  what  they  earn.  It  was  a  melancholy  fact  that,  of 
the  two  impending  losses,  the  person  they  should  miss 
most  would  be,  not  their  sister,  but  Elizabeth. 

Both  regrets  combined  made  them  sit  at  the  breakfast 
table — the  last  meal  they  should  ever  take  together  as  a 
family — sad  and  sorry,  speaking  about  little  else  than  the 

K  2 


226  MISTKESS    AND    MAID. 

subject  which  presented  itself  as  easiest  and  uppermost, 
namely,  clothes. 

Finally,  they  stood  all  completely  arrayed,  even  to  bon- 
nets ;  Hilary  looking  wonderfully  bewitching  in  hers,  which 
was  the  very  pattern  of  one  that  may  still  be  seen  in  a 
youthful  portrait  of  our  gracious  queen  —  a  large  round 
brim,  with  a  wreath  of  roses  inside  ;  while  Miss  Leaf's  was 
somewhat  like  it,  only  with  little  bunches  of  white  ribbon, 
"  for,"  she  said,  "  my  time  of  roses  has  gone  by."  But  her 
sweet  faded  face  had  a  peace  that  was  not  in  the  other 
two — not  even  in  Hilary's. 

But  the  time  arrived ;  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  door. 
Then  nature  and  sisterly  feeling  asserted  themselves  for  a 
minute.  Miss  Selina  "  gave  way,"  not  to  any  loud  or  in- 
decorous extent,  to  nothing  that  could  in  the  least  harm 
her  white  satin,  or  crumple  her  laces  and  ribbons;  but  she 
did  shed  a  tear  or  two — real  honest  tears — kissed  her  sis- 
ters affectionately,  hoped  they  would  be  very  happy  at 
Richmond,  and  that  they  would  often  come  to  see  her  at 
Russell  Square. 

"  You  know,"  said  she,  half  apologetically, "  it  is  a  great 
deal  better  for  one  of  us  at  least  to  be  married  and  settled. 
Indeed,  I  assure  you,  I  have  done  it  all  for  the  good  of  my 
family." 

And  for  the  time  being  she  devoutly  believed  she  had. 

So  it  was  all  over.  Elizabeth  herself,  from  the  aisle  of 
St.  Paricras  Church,  watched  the  beginning  and  ending  of 
the  show  ;  a  very  fine  show,  with  a  number  of  handsomely 
dressed  people,  wedding  guests,  who  seemed  to  stare  about 
them  a  good  deal,  and  take  little  interest  in  either  bride  or 
bridegroom.  The  only  persons  Elizabeth  recognized  were 
her  mistresses — Miss  Leaf,  who  kept  her  veil  down  and 
never  stirred  ;  and  Miss  Hilary,  who  stood  close  behind  the 
bride,  listening  with  downcast  eyes  to  the  beautiful  mar- 
riage service.  It  must  have  touched  her  more  than  on  her 
sister's  account,  for  a  tear,  gathered  under  each  eyelash, 
silently  rolled  down  the  soft  cheek  and  fell. 

"Miss  Hilary's  an  angel,  and  he'll  be  a  lucky  man  that 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  227 

gets  her"  meditated  her  faithful  "bower -maiden"  of  old, 
as,  a  little  excited  by  the  event  of  the  morning,  she  stood 
by  the  mantlepiece  and  contemplated  a  letter  which  had 
come  after  the  ladies  had  departed ;  one  of  these  regular 
monthly  Indian  letters,  after  which,  Elizabeth  was  sharp 
enough  to  notice,  Miss  Hilary's  step  always  grew  lighter 
and  her  eye  brighter  for  many  days. 

"It  must  be  a  nice  thing  to  have  somebody  fond  of  one, 
and  somebody  to  be  fond  of,"  meditated  she.  And  "  old- 
fashioned  piece  of  goods"  as  she  was — according  to  Mrs. 
Jones  (who  now,  from  the  use  she  was  in  the  Jones's  me- 
nage, patronized  and  confided  in  her  extremely) — some  lit- 
tle bit  of  womanly  craving  after  the  woman's  one  hope 
and  crown  of  bliss  crept  into  the  poor  maid-servant's  heart. 
But  it  was  not  for  the  maid-servant's  usual  necessity — a 
u  sweetheart" — somebody  to  "keep  company  with;"  it  was 
rather  for  somebody  to  love,  and  perhaps  take  care  of  a 
little.  People  love  according  to  their  natures,  and  Eliza- 
beth's was  a  strong  nature ;  its  principal  element  being  a 
capacity  for  passionate  devotedness,  almost  unlimited  in 
extent.  Such  women,  who  love  most,  are  not  always,  in- 
deed very  rarely,  loved  best.  And  so  it  was  perhaps  as 
well  that  poor  Elizabeth  should  make  up  her  mind,  as  she 
did  very  composedly,  that  she  herself  should  never  be  mar- 
ried ;  but  after  that  glorious  wedding  of  Miss  Hilary's  to 
Mr.  Lyon,  should  settle  down  to  take  care  of  Miss  Leaf  all 
her  days. 

"And  if  I  turn  out  only  half  as  good  and  contented  as 
my  mistress,  it  can't  be  such  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  an  old 
maid,  after  all,"  stoically  said  Elizabeth  Hand. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  mouth  when  her  at- 
tention was  caught  by  some  one  in  the  passage  inquiring 
for  her — yes,  actually  for  her.  She  could  hardly  believe 
her  eyes  when  she  perceived  it  was  her  new-found  old  ac- 
quaintance, Tom  Cliffe.  He  was  dressed  very  well,  out  of 
livery;  indeed,  he  looked  so  extremely  like  a  gentleman 
that  Mrs.  Jones's  little  girl  took  him  for  one,  called  him 
"  Sir,"  and  showed  him  into  the  parlor. 


228  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"  All  right.  I  thought  this  was  the  house.  Uncommon 
sharp  of  me  to  hunt  you  out,  wasn't  it,  Elizabeth  ?" 

But  Elizabeth  was  a  little  stiff,  flurried,  and  perplexed. 
Her  mistresses  were  out ;  she  did  not  know  whether  she 
ought  to  ask  Tom  in,  especially  as  it  must  be  into  the  par- 
lor: there  was  no  other  place  to  take  him  to. 

However,  Tom  settled  the  matter  with  a  conclusive  "Oh, 
gammon  !" — sat  himself  down,  and  made  himself  quite  com- 
fortable. And  Elizabeth  was  so  glad  to  see  him — glad  to 
have  another  chance  of  talking  about  dear  old  Stowbury. 
It  could  not  be  wrong  ;  she  would  not  say  a  word  about  the 
family,  not  even  tell  him  she  lived  with  the  Misses  Leaf  if  she 
could  help  it.  And  Tom  did  not  seem  in  the  least  curious. 

"  Now,  I  call  this  quite  a  coincidence.  I  was  stopping 
at  St.  Pancras  Church  to  look  at  a  wedding — some  old  city 
fogy  who  lives  in  Russell  Square,  and  is  making  a  great 
splash  ;  and  there  I  see  you,  Elizabeth,  standing  in  the 
crowd,  and  looking  so  nice  and  spicy — as  fresh  as  an  apple 
and  as  brisk  as  a  bee.  I  hummed,  and  hawed,  and  whis- 
tled, but  I  couldn't  catch  your  eye  ;  then  I  missed  you,  and 
was  vexed  above  a  bit,  till  I  saw  some  one  like  you  going 
in  at  this  door,  so  I  just  knocked  and  asked  ;  and  here  you 
are  !  'Pon  my  life,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Tom,"  said  Elizabeth,  pleased,  even  grate- 
ful for  the  trouble  he  had  taken  about  her:  she  had  so  few 
friends — in  truth,  actually  none. 

They  began  to  talk,  and  Tom  Cliife  talked  exceedingly 
well.  He  had  added  to  his  natural  cleverness  a  degree  of 
London  sharpness,  the  result  of  much  "  knocking  about" 
ever  since  childhood.  Besides,  his  master,  the  literary  gen- 
tleman, who  had  picked  him  out  of  the  printing-office,  had 
taken  a  deal  of  pains  with  him.  Tom  was,  for  his  station, 
a  very  intelligent  and  superior  young  man.  Not  a  boy, 
though  he  was  still  under  twenty,  but  a  young  man :  that 
'precocity  of  development  which  often  accompanies  a  deli- 
cate constitution,  making  him  appear,  as  he  was  indeed,  in 
mind  and  character,  fully  six  or  seven  years  older  than  his 
real  acre. 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  229 

He  was  a  handsome  fellow,  too,  though  small ;  dark- 
haired,  dark-eyed,  with  regular  and  yet  sensitive  and  mo- 
bile features.  Altogether  Torn  Clitfe  was  decidedlyinter- 
esting,  and  Elizabeth  took  great  pleasure  in  looking  at  him, 
and  in  thinking,  with  a  certain  half  motherly,  half  romantic 
satisfaction,  that  but  for  her,  and  her  carrying  him  home 
from  under  the  horse's  heels,  he  might,  humanly  speaking, 
have  been  long  ago  buried  in  Stowbury  church-yard. 

"I  have  a  'church-yard  cough'  at  times  still,"  said  he. 
when  speaking  of  this  little  episode  of  early  life.  "  I  don't 
think  I  shall  ever  live  to  be  a  middle-aged  man."  And  he 
shook  his  head,  and  looked  melancholy  and  poetical ;  nay, 
even  showed  Elizabeth  some  poetry  that  he  himself  had 
written  on  the  subject,  which  was  clever  enough  in  its  way. 

Elizabeth's  interest  grew.  An  ordinary  baker  or  butcher 
boy  would  not  have  attracted  her  in  the  least;  but  here 
was  something  in  the  shape  of  a  hero,  somebody  who  at 
once  touched  her  sympathies  and  roused  her  admiration ; 
for  Tom  was  quite  as  well  informed  as  she  was  herself— 
more  so,  indeed.  He  was  one  of  the  many  shrewd  and 
clever  working-men  who  were  then  beginning  to  rise  up 
and  think  for  themselves,  and  educate  themselves.  He  at- 
tended classes  at  mechanics'  institutions,  and  young  men's 
debating  societies,  where  every  topic  of  the  day,  religion, 
politics,  political  economy,  was  handled  freely,  as  the  young 
do  handle  these  serious  things.  He  threw  himself,  heart 
and  soul,  into  the  new  movement,  which,  like  all  revolu- 
tions, had  at  first  its  great  and  fatal  dangers,  but  yet  re- 
sulted in  much  good;  clearing  the  political  sky,  and  bring- 
ing all  sorts  of  hidden  abuses  under  the  sharp  eyes  of  that 
great  scourge  of  evil-doers — public  opinion. 

Yet  Elizabeth,  reared  under  the  wing  of  the  conservative 
Misses  Leaf,  was  a  little  startled  when  Tom  Cliife,  who  ap- 
parently liked  talking  and  being  listened  to,  gave  her  a 
long  dissertation  on  the  true  principles  of  the  Charter,  and 
how  Frost, Williams,  and  Jones — names  all  but  forgotten 
now — were  very  ill-used  men,  actual  martyrs.  She  was 
more  than  startled — shocked  indeed — until  there  came  a 


230  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

reaction  of  the  deepest  pity — when  he  confessed  that  he 
never  went  to  church.  He  saw  no  use  in  going,  he  said ; 
the  pa»sons  were  all  shams,  paid  largely  to  chatter  about 
what  they  did  not  understand;  the  only  real  religion  was 
that  which  a  man  thought  out  for  himself,  and  acted  out 
for  himself;  which  was  true  enough,  though  only  a  half 
truth  ;  and  innocent  Elizabeth  did  not  see  the  other  halt! 

But  she  was  touched  and  carried  away  by  the  earnest- 
ness and  enthusiasm  of  the  lad,  \vild,  fierce  iconoclast  as  he 
was,  ready  to  cast  down  the  whole  fabric  of  Church  and 
State,  though  without  any  personal  hankering  after  law- 
less rights  and  low  pleasures.  His  sole  idol  was,  as  he  said, 
intellect,  and  that  was  his  preservation. 

Also,  the  fragile  health  which  was  betrayed  in  every 
flash  of  his  eye,  every  flush  of  his  sallow  cheek,  made  Tom 
Cliffe,  even  in  the  two  hours  he*  staid  with  her,  come  very 
close  to  Elizabeth's  heart.  It  Avas  such  a  warm  heart,  such 
a  liberal  heart,  thinking  so  little  of  itself  or  of  its  own  value. 

So  here  began  to  be  told  the  old  story,  familiar  in  kitch- 
ens as  parlors  ;  but,  from  the  higher  bringing-up  of  the  two 
parties  concerned,  conducted  in  this  case  more  after  the 
fashion  of  the  latter  than  the  former. 

Elizabeth  Hand  was  an  exceptional  person,  and  Tom  had 
the  sense  to  see  that  at  once.  He  paid  her  no  coarse  atten- 
tions, did  not  attempt  to  make  love  to  her;  but  he  liked 
her,  and  he  let  her  see  that  he  did.  True,  she  was  not 
pretty,  and  she  was  older  than  he ;  but  that,  to  a  boy  of 
nineteen,  is  rather  flattering  than  otherwise.  Also,  for  there 
is  a  law  even  under  the  blind  mystery  of  likings  and  fall- 
ings in  love — a  certain  weakness  in  him,  that  weakness 
which  generally  accompanies  the  poetical  nature,  clung  to 
the  quiet,  solid,  practical  strength  of  hers.  He  liked  to 
talk  and  be  listened  to  by  those  silent,  admiring,  gentle 
gray  eyes ;  and  he  thought  it  very  pleasant  when,  with  a 
motherly  prudence,  she  warned  him  to  be  careful  over  his 
cough,  and  gave  him  a  flannel  breastplate  to  protect  his 
chest  against  the  cold. 

When  he  went  away  Tom  was  so  far  in  love  that,  fol- 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  231 

lowing  the  free  and  easy  ways  of  his  class,  he  attempted  to 
give  Elizabeth  a  kiss ;  but  she  drew  back  so  hotly  that  he 
begged  her  pardon,  and  slipped  away  rather  confounded. 

"That's  an  odd  sort  of  young  woman;  there's  something 
in  her,"  said  he  to  himself.  "  I'll  get  a  kiss,  though,  by- 
and-by." 

Meanwhile  Elizabeth,  having  forgotten  all  about  her  din- 
ner, sat  thinking,  actually  doing  nothing  but  thinking,  un- 
til within  half  an  hour  of  the  time  when  her  mistresses 
might  be  expected  back.  They  were  to  go  direct  to  the 
hotel,  breakfast,  wait  till  the  newly-married  couple  had  de- 
parted, and  then  come  home.  They  would  be  sure  to  be 
weary,  and  want  their  tea. 

So  Elizabeth  made  every  thing  ready  for  them,  steadily 
putting  Tom  Cliffe  out  of  her  mind.  One  thing  she  was 
glad  oi\  that,  talking  so  much  about  his  own  aifairs,  he  had 
forgotten  to  inquire  concerning  hers,  and  was  still  quite 
ignorant  even  of  her  mistresses'  name.  He  therefore  could 
tell  no  tales  of  the  Leaf  family  at  Stowbury.  Still  she  de- 
termined at  once  to  inform  Miss  Hilary  that  he  had  been 
here,  but  that,  if  she  wished  it,  he  should  never  come  again. 
And  it  spoke  well  for  her  resolve  that,  while  resolving,  she 
was  startled  to  find  how  very  sorry  she  should  feel  if  Tom 
Clifte  never  came  again. 

I  know  I  am  painting  this  young  woman  with  a  strange- 
ly tender  conscience,  a  refinement  of  feeling,  and  a  general 
moral  sensitiveness  which  people  say  is  seldom  or  never  to 
be  found  in  her  rank  of  life.  And  why  not?  Because 
mistresses  treat  servants  as  servants,  and  not  as  women ; 
because  in  the  sharp,  hard  line  they  draw,  at  the  outset, 
between  themselves  and  their  domestics,  they  give  no 
chance  for  any  womanliness  to  be  developed ;  and  there- 
fore, since  human  nature  is  weak,  and  without  help  from 
without,  a  long  degraded  class  can  never  rise ;  sweethearts 
will  still  come  crawling  through  back  entries  and  down  at 
area  doors ;  mistresses  will  still  have  to  dismiss  helpless 
•and  fallen,  or  brazen  in  iniquity,  many  a  wretched  girl  who 
once  was  innocent;  or,  if  nothing  actually  vicious  results, 


232  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

may  have  many  a  good,  respectable  servant,  who  left  to 
get  married,  return,  complaining  that  her  "  young  man," 
whom  she  knew  so  little  about,  has  turned  out  a  drunken 
scoundrel  of  a  husband,  who  drives  her  back  to  her  old 
comfortable  "  place"  to  beg  for  herself  and  her  starving  ba- 
bies a  morsel  of  bread. 

When,  with  a  vivid  blush  that  she  could  not  repress, 
Elizabeth  told  her  mistress  that  Tom  Cliffe  had  been  to  see 
her,  the  latter  replied  at  first  carelessly,  for  her  mind  was 
preoccupied.  Then,  her  attention  caught  by  the  aforesaid 
blush,  Miss  Hilary  asked, 

"  How  old  is  the  lad  ?" 

"  Nineteen." 

"  That's  a  bad  age,  Elizabeth.  Too  old  to  be  a  pet,  and 
rather  too  young  for  a  husband." 

"  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Elizabeth,  warm- 
ly— and  honestly,  at  the  time. 

"  Did  he  want  to  come  and  see  you  again  ?" 

"He  said  so." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  he  is  a  steady,  respectable  lad,  there  can  be 
no  objection.  I  should  like  to  see  him  myself  next  time." 

And  then  a  sudden  sharp  reflection  that  there  would 
likely  be  no  next  time,  in  their  service  at  least,  made  Miss 
Hilary  feel  quite  a  hypocrite. 

"Elizabeth,"  said  she,  "  we  will  speak  about  Tom  Cliffe 
— is  not  that  his  name  ? — by-and-by.  Now,  as  soon  as 
tea  is  over,  my  sister  wants  to  talk  to  you.  When  you 
are  ready,  will  you  come  up  stairs  ?" 

She  spoke  in  an  especially  gentle  tone,  so  that  by  no 
possibility  could  Elizabeth  fancy  they  were  displeased  with 
her. 

Now,  knowing  the  circumstances  of  the  family,  Eliza- 
beth's conscience  had  often  smitten  her  that  she  must  eat 
a  great  deal;  that  her  wages,  paid  regularly  month  by 
month,  must  make  a  great  hole  in  her  mistress's  income. 
She  was,  alack !  a  sad  expense,  and  she  tried  to  lighten  her 
cost  in  every  possible  way.  But  it  never  struck  her  that 
they  could  do  without  her,  or  that  any  need  would  arise 


MISTRESS  A:ND  MAID.  233 

for  their  doing  so.  So  she  went  into  the  parlor  quite  un- 
suspiciously, and  found  Miss  Leaf  lying  on  the  sofa,  and 
Miss  Hilary  reading  aloud  the  letter  from  India.  But  it 
was  laid  quietly  aside  as  she  said, 

"  Johanna,  Elizabeth  i§  here." 

Then  Johanna,  rousing  herself  to  say  what  must  be  said, 
but  putting  it  as  gently  and  kindly  as  she  could,  told  Eliz- 
abeth, what  mistresses  often  think  it  below  their  dignity 
to  tell  to  servants,  the  plain  truth — namely,  that  circum- 
stances obliged  herself  and  Miss  Hilary  to  retrench  their 
expenses  as  much  as  they  possibly  could.  That  they  were 
going  to  live  in  two  little  rooms  at  Richmond,  where  they 
would  board  with  the  inmates  of  the  house. 

"  And  so,  and  so — "  Miss  Leaf  faltered.  It  was  very 
hard  to  say  it  with  those  eager  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 

Hilary  took  up  the  word — 

"  And  so,  Elizabeth,  much  as  it  grieves  us,  we  shall  be 
obliged  to  part  with  you.  We  can  not  any  longer  afford 
to  keep  a  servant." 

No  answer. 

"  It  is  not  even  as  it  was  once  before,  when  we  thought 
you  might  do  better  for  yourself.  We  know,  if  it  were 
possible,  you  would  rather  stay  with  us,  and  we  would 
rather  keep  you.  It  is  like  parting  with  one  of  our  own 
family."  And  Miss  Hilary's  voice  too  failed.  "However, 
there  is  no  help  for  it ;  we  must  part." 

Elizabeth,  recovered  from  her  first  bewildered  grief,  was 
on  the  point  of  bursting  out  into  entreaties  that  she  might 
do  like  many  another  faithful  servant,  live  without  wages, 
put  up  with  any  hardships,  rather  than  be  sent  away.  But 
something  in  Miss  Hilary's  manner  told  .her  it  would  be 
useless — worse  than  useless,  painful ;  and  she  would  do 
any  thing  rather  than  give  her  mistress  pain.  When,  ut- 
terly unable  to  control  it,  she  gave  vent  to  one  loud  sob, 
the  expression  of  acute  suffering  on  Miss  Hilary's  counte- 
nance was  such  that  she  determined  to  sob  no  more.  She 
felt  that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  the  thing  was  inevita- 
ble ;  that  she  must  take  up  her  burden,  as  her  mistress  had 


234  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

done,  even  though  it  were  the  last  grief  of  all — leaving 
that  beloved  mistress. 

"  That's  right,  Elizabeth,"  said  Miss  Hilary,  softly.  "All 
these  changes  are  very  bitter  to  us  also,  but  we  must  bear 
them.  There  is  nothing  lasting  in  this  world  except  do- 
ing right,  and  being  goodr  and  faithful,  and  helpful  to  one 
another." 

She  sighed.  Possibly  there  had  been  sad  tidings  in  the 
letter  which  she  still  held  in  her  hand,  clinging  to  it  as  we 
do  to  something  which,  however  sorely  it  hurts  us,  we 
would  not  part  with  for  the  whole  world.  But  there  was 
no  hopelessness  or  despair  in  her  tone,  and  Elizabeth  caught 
the  influence  of  that  true  courageous  heart. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  take  me  back  again  soon, 
ma'am,"  said  she,  looking  toward  Miss  Leaf.  "And  mean- 
time I  might  get  a  place;  Mrs.  Jones  has  told  me  of  sev- 
eral ;"  and  she  stopped,  afraid  lest  it  might  be  found  out 
how  often  Mrs.  Jones  had  urged  her  to  "better  herself," 
and  she  had  indignantly  refused.  "  Or"  (a  bright  idea  oc- 
curred) "  I  wonder  if  Miss  Selina,  that  is,  Mrs.  Ascott,  would 
take  me  in  at  Russell  Square  ?" 

Hilary  looked  hard  at  her. 

"  Would  you  really  like  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  should  ;  for  I  should  see  and  hear  of  you.  Miss 
Hilary,  if  you  please,  I  wish  you  would  ask  Mrs.  Ascott  to 
take  me." 

And  Hilary,  much  surprised — for  she  was  well  acquaint- 
ed with  Elizabeth's  sentiments  toward  both  Mr.  Ascott  and 
the  late  Miss  Selina — promised. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AND  now  I  leave  Miss  Hilary  for  a  time — leave  her  in,  if 
not  happiness,  great  peace — peace  which,  after  these  stormy 
months,  was  an  actual  paradise  of  calm  to  both  herself  and 
Johanna. 

Their  grief  for  Ascott  had  softened  down.    Its  very  hope- 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  235 

Ic-ssness  gave  it  resignation.  There  was  nothing  more  to 
be  done;  they  had  done  all  they  could, both  to  find  him 
out  and  to  save  him  from  the  public  disgrace  which  might 
blight  any  hope  of  reformation.  Now  the  result  must  be 
left  in  higher  hands. 

Only  at  times  fits  of  restless  trouble  would  come;  times 
when  a  sudden  knock  at  the  door  would  make  Johanna 
shake  nervously  for  minutes  afterward ;  when  Hilary  walk- 
ed about  every  where  with  her  mind  preoccupied,  and  her 
eyes  open  to  notice  every  chance  passer-by ;  nay,  she  had 
sometimes  secretly  followed  down  a  whole  street  some  fig- 
ure which,  in  its  light,  jaunty  step,  and  long,  fashionably- 
cut  hair,  reminded  her  of  Ascott. 

Otherwise  they  were  not  unhappy,  she  and  her  dearest 
sister.  Poor  as  they  were,  they  were  together,  and  then- 
poverty  had  no  sting.  They  knew  exactly  how  much  they 
would  receive  monthly,  and  how  much  they  ought  to  spend. 
Though  obliged  to  calculate  every  penny,  still  their  income 
and  their  expenses  were  alike  certain  ;  there  wras  no  anxie- 
ty about  money  matters,  which  of  itself  was  an  indescriba- 
ble relief.  Also,  there  was  that  best  blessing — peace  at 
homo.  Never  in  all  her  days  had  Johanna  known  such  an 
easy  life;  sitting  quietly  in  her  parlor  while  Hilary  was 
engaged  in  the  shop  below ;  descending  to  dinner,  where 
she  took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  the  young  people  soon 
learned  to  treat  her  with  great  respect  and  even  affection; 
then  waiting  for  the  happy  tea  in  their  own  room,  and  the 
walk  afterward  in  Richmond  Park  or  along  the  Thames 
banks  toward  Twickenham.  Perhaps  it  was  partly  from 
the  contrast  to  that  weary  year  in  London ;  but  never,  in 
any  spring,  had  the  air  seemed  so  balmy,  or  the  trees  so 
irreen.  They  brought  back  to  Hilary's  face  the  youthful 
bloom  which  she  had  begun  to  lose,  and,  in  degree,  her 
youthful  brightness,  which  had  also  become  slightly  over- 
clouded. Again  she  laughed  and  made  her  little  domestic 
jokes,  and  regained  her  pretty  way  of  putting  things,  so 
that  every  thing  always  appeared  to  have  a  cheerful,  and 
even  a  comical  side. 


230  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Also — for  while  we  are  made  as  wre  are,  with  capacity 
for  happiness,  and  especially  the  happiness  of  love,  it  is  sure 
to  be  thus — she  had  a  little  private  sunbeam  in  her  own 
heart  which  brightened  outside  things.  After  that  sad 
letter  from  India  which  came  on  Selina's  wedding-day,  ev- 
ery succeeding  one  grew  more  cheerful,  more  demonstra- 
tive, nay,  even  affectionate ;  though  still  with  that  queer 
Scotch  pride  of  his,  that  would  ask  for  nothing  till  it  could 
ask  and  have  every  thing,  and  give  every  thing  in  return 
— the  letters  were  all  addressed  to  Johanna. 

"  What  an  advantage  it  is  to  be  an  old  woman !"  Miss 
Leaf  would  sometimes  say,  mischievously,  when  she  re- 
ceived them.  But  more  often  she  said  nothing,  waiting  in 
peace  for  events  to  develop  themselves.  She  did  not  think 
much  about  herself,  and  had  no  mean  jealousy  over  her 
child ;  she  knew  that  a  righteous  and  holy  love  only  makes 
all  natural  affections  more  sacred  and  more  dear. 

And  Hilary  ?  She  held  her  head  higher  and  prouder  •, 
and  the  spring  trees  looked  greener,  and  the  river  ran 
brighter  in  the  sunshine.  Ah,  Heaven  pity  us  all !  it  is  a 
good  thing  to  have  love  in  one's  life ;  it  is  a  good  thing,  if 
only  for  a  time,  to  be  actually  happy  —  not  merely  con- 
tented, but  happy  ! 

And  so  I  will  leave  her,  this  little  woman ;  and  nobody 
need  mourn  over  her  because  she  is  working  too  hard,  or 
pity  her  because  she  is  obliged  to  work ;  has  to  wear  com- 
mon clothes,  and  live  in  narrow  rooms,  and  pass  on  her 
poor  weary  feet  the  grand  carriages  of  the  Richmond  gen- 
try, who  are  not  a  bit  more  well-born  or  well-educated 
than  she ;  who  never  take  the  least  notice  of  her,  except 
sometimes  to  peer  curiously  at  the  desk  where  she  sits  in 
the  shop -corner,  and  wonder  who  "that  young  person 
with  the  rather  pretty  curls"  can  be.  No  matter,  she  is 
happy. 

How  much  happiness  was  there  in  the  large  house  at 
Russell  Square  ? 

The  Misses  Leaf  could  not  tell ;  their  sister  never  gave 
them  an  opportunity  of  judging. 


MISTEESS   AND    MAID.  237 

"  My  son's  my  son  till  he  gets  him  a  wife, 
But  my  daughter's  my  daughter  all  her  life." 

And  so,  most  frequently,  is  "  my  sister."  But  not  in  this 
case.  It  could  not  be ;  they  never  expected  it  would. 

When,  on  her  rare  visits  to  town,  Hilary  called  at  Rus- 
sell Square,  she  always  found  Mrs.  Ascott  handsomely  dress- 
ed, dignified,  and  gracious.  Not  in  the  slightest  degree  un- 
civil or  unsisterly,  but  gracious  —  perhaps  a  thought  too 
gracious.  Most  condescendingly  anxious  that  she  should 
stay  to  luncheon,  and  eat  and  drink  the  best  the  house  af- 
forded, but  never  by  any  chance  inviting  her  to  stay  to 
dinner.  Consequently,  as  Mr.  Ascott  was  always  absent- 
in  the  city  until  dinner,  Hilary  did  not  see  him  for  months 
together,  and  her  brother-in-law  was,  she  declared,  no  more 
to  her  than  any  other  man  upon  'Change,  or  the  man  in 
the  moon,  or  the  Great  Mogul. 

His  wife  spoke  little  about  him.  After  a  few  faint,  for- 
mal questions  concerning  Richmond  affairs,  somehow  her 
conversation  always  recurred  to  her  own — the  dinners  she 
had  been  at,  those  she  was  going  to  give,  her  carriages, 
clothes,  jewelry,  and  so  on.  She  was  altogether  a  very 
great  lady,  and  Hilary,  as  she  avouched  laughingly  —  it 
was,  in  this  case,  better  to  laugh  than  to  grieve  —  felt  .an 
exceedingly  small  person  beside  her. 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Ascott  showed  no  unkindness — nay, 
among  the  various  changes  that  matrimony  had  produced 
in  her,  her  temper  appeared  rather  to  have  improved  than 
otherwise ;  there  was  now  seldom  any  trace  of  that  touchy 
sharpness  which  used  to  be  called  "  poor  Selina's  way." 
And  yet  Hilary  never  quitted  the  house  without  saying  to 
herself,  with  a  sigh,  the  old  phrase,  "  Poor  Selina  !" 

Thus,  in  the  inevitable  consequences  of  things,  her  visits 
to  Russell  Square  became  fewer  and  fewer;  she  kept  them 
up  as  a  duty,  not  exacting  any  return,  for  she  felt  that  Avas 
impossible,  though  still  keeping  up  the  ghostly  shadow  of 
sisterly  intimacy.  Nevertheless,  she  knew  well  it  was  but 
a  shadow;  that  the  only  face  that  looked  honest,  glad 
welcome,  or  that  she  was  honestly  glad  to  see  in  her 


238  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

brother-in-law's  house,  was  the  under  house -maid,  Eliza- 
beth Hand. 

Contrary  to  all  expectations,  Mrs.  Ascott  had  consented 
to  take  Elizabeth  into  her  service.  With  many  stipula- 
tions and  warnings  never  to  presume  on  past  relations, 
never  even  to  mention  Stowbury  on  pain  of  instant  dismiss- 
al, still  she  did  take  her,  and  Elizabeth  staid.  At  every 
one  of  Miss  Hilary's  visits,  lying  in  wait  in  the  bedchamber, 
or  on  the  staircase,  or  creeping  up  at  the  last  minute  to 
open  the  hall  door,  was  sure  to  appear  the  familiar  face, 
beaming  all  over.  Little  conversation  passed  between 
them — Mrs.  Ascott  evidently  disliked  it;  still  Elizabeth 
looked  well  and  happy,  and  when  Miss  Hilary  told  her  so 
she  always  silently  smiled. 

But  this  story  must  tell  the  whole  truth  which  lay  be- 
neath that  fond,  acquiescing  smile. 

Elizabeth  was  certainly  in  good  health,  being  well  fed, 
well  housed,  and  leading,  on  the  whole,  an  easy  life ;  happy, 
too,  when  she  looked  at  Miss  Hilary.  But  her  migration 
from  Mrs.  Jones's  lodgings  to  this  grand  mansion  had  not 
been  altogether  the  translation  from  Purgatory  to  Paradise 
that  some  would  have  supposed. 

The  author  of  this  simple  story  having — unfortunately 
for  it — never  been  in  domestic  service,  especially  in  the 
great  houses  of  London,  does  not  pretend  to  describe  the 
ins  and  outs  of  their  "  high  life  below  stairs ;"  to  repeat 
kitchen  conversations,  to  paint  the  humors  of  the  servants' 
hall — the  butler  and  housekeeper  getting  tipsy  together, 
the  cook  courting  the  policeman,  and  the  footman  making 
love  successively  to  every  house-maid  and  lady's-maid. 
Some  writers  have  depicted  all  this,  whether  faithfully  or 
not  they  know  best;  but  the  present  writer  declines  to  at- 
tempt any  thing  of  the  kind.  Her  business  is  solely  with 
one  domestic,  the  country  girl  who  came  unexpectedly  into 
this  new  world  of  London  servant-life — a  world  essentially 
its  own,  and  a  life  of  which  the  upper  classes  are  as  igno- 
rant as  they  are  of  what  goes  on  in  Madagascar  and  Ota- 
hoi  te. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  239 

This  fact  was  the  first  which  struck  the  unsophisticated 
Elizabeth.  She,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  a  sort  of  feu- 
dal relationship  to  her  dear  mistresses,  was  astonished  to 
find  the  domestics  of  Russell  Square  banded  together  into 
a  community  which,  in  spite  of  their  personal  bickerings 
and  jealousies,  ended  in  alliance  offensive  and  defensive 
against  the  superior  powers,  whom  they  looked  upon  as 
their  natural  enemies.  Invisible  enemies  certainly;  for 
"master"  they  hardly  ever  saw,  and,  excepting  the  lady's- 
maid,  were  mostly  as  ignorant  of  "  missis."  The  house- 
keeper was  the  middle  link  between  the  two  estates — the 
person  with  whom  all  business  was  transacted,  and  to  whom 
all  complaints  had  to  be  made.  Beyond  being  sometimes 
talked  over,  generally  in  a  quizzical,  depreciatory,  or  con- 
demnatory way,  the  heads  of  the  establishment  were  no 
more  to  their  domestics  than  the  people  who  paid  wages, 
and  exacted  in  return  certain  duties,  which  most  of  them 
made  as  small  as  possible,  and  escaped  whenever  they 
could. 

If  this  be  an  exaggerated  picture  of  a  state  of  things  per- 
haps in  degree  inevitable — and  yet  it  should  not  be,  for  it 
is  the  source  of  incalculable  evil,  this  dividing  of  a  house 
against  itself — if  I  have  in  any  way  said  what  is  not  true, 
I  would  that  some  intelligent  "  voice  from  the  kitchen" 
would  rise  up  and  tell  us  what  is  true,  and  whether  it  be 
possible  on  either  side  to  find  means  of  amending  what  so 
sorely  needs  reformation. 

Elizabeth  sometimes  wanted  Tom  Cliffe  to  do  this — to 
"  write  a  book,"  which  he,  eager  young  malcontent,  was  al- 
ways threatening  to  do,  upon  the  evils  of  society,  and  espe- 
cially the  tyranny  of  the  upper  classes.  Tom  Cliife  was 
the  only  person  to  whom  she  imparted  her  troubles  and 
perplexities :  how  different  her  life  was  from  that  she  had 
been  used  to;  how  among  her  fellow-servants  there  was 
not  one  who  did  not  seem  to  think  and  act  in  a  manner 
totally  opposed  to  every  thing  she  had  learned  from  Miss 
Hilary;  how,  consequently,  she  herself  was  teased,  bullied, 
threatened,  or,  at  best,  "  sent  to  Coventry"  from  morning 
till  night. 


240  MISTKESS    AND   MAID. 

"  I'm  quite  alone,  Tom — I  am,  indeed,"  said  she,  almost 
crying',  the  first  Sunday  night  when  she  met  him  accident- 
ally in  going  to  church,  and,  in  her  dreary  state  of  mind, 
was  exceedingly  glad  to  see  him.  He  consoled  her,  and 
even  went  to  church  with  her,  half  promising  to  do  the 
same  next  Sunday,  and  calling  her  u  a  good  little  Christian, 
who  almost  inclined  him  to  be  a  Christian  too." 

And  so,  with  the  vague  feeling  that  she  was  doing  him 
good  and  keeping  him  out  of  harm — that  lad  who  had  so 
much  that  was  kindly  and  nice  about  him — Elizabeth  con- 
sented, not  exactly  to  an  appointment,  but  she  told  him 
what  were  her  "  Sundays  out,"  and  the  church  she  usually 
attended,  if  he  liked  to  take  the  chance  of  her  being  there. 

Alack!  she  Imd  so  few  pleasures;  she  so  seldom  got 
even  a  breath  of  outside  air — it  was  not  thought  necessary 
for  servants.  The  only  hour  she  was  allowed  out  was  the 
church-going  on  alternate  Sunday  evenings.  How  pleasant 
it  was  to  creep  out  then,  and  see  Tom  waiting  for  her  un- 
der the  opposite  trees,  dressed  so  smart  and  gentlemanlike, 
looking  so  handsome  and  so  glad  to  see  her — her,  the  poor 
countrified  Elizabeth,  who  was  quizzed  incessantly  by  her 
fellow-servants  on  her  oddness,  plainness,  and  stupidity. 

Tom  did  not  seem  to  think  her  stupid,  for  lie  talked  to 
her  of  all  his  doings  and  plannings,  vague  and  wild  as  those 
of  the  young  tailor  in  "Alton  Locke,"  yet  with  a  romantic 
energy  about  them  that  strongly  interested  his  companion  ; 
and  he  read  her  his  poetry,  and  addressed  a  few  lines  to  her- 
self, beginning,  * 

"Dearest  and  best,  my  long  familiar  friend ;" 

which  was  rather  a  poetical  exaggeration,  since  he  had  al- 
together forgotten  her  in  the  interval  of  their  separation. 
But  she  never  guessed  this,  and  so  they  both  clung  to  the 
early  tie,  making  it  out  to  be  ten  times  stronger  than  it 
really  was,  as  people  do  who  are  glad  of  any  excuse  for  be- 
ing fond  of  one  another. 

-Torn  really  was  getting  fond  of  Elizabeth.     She  touched 
the  higher  half  of  his  nature — the  spiritual  and  imagina- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  241 

live  half.  That  he  had  it,  though  only  a  working-man,  and 
she  too,  though  only  a  domestic  servant,  was  most  true  : 
probably  many  more  of  their  class  have  it  than  we  are  at 
all  aware  of.  Therefore  these  two,  being  special  individu- 
als, were  attracted  by  each  other ;  she  by  him  because  he 
was  so  clever,  and  he  by  her  because  she  was  so  good.  For 
he  had  an  ideal,  poor  Tom  Cliffe  !  and,  though  it  had  been 
smothered  and  laid  to  sleep  by  a  not  too  regular  life,  it 
woke  up  again  under  the  kind,  sincere  eyes  of  this  plain, 
simple-minded,  honest  Elizabeth  Hand. 

He  knew  she  was  plain,  and  so  old-fashioned  in  her 
dress,  that  Tom,  who  was  particular  about  such  things,  did 
not  always  like  walking  with  her ;  but  she  was  so  interest- 
ing and  true ;  she  sympathized  with  him  so  warmly — he 
found  her  so  unfailingly  and  unvaryingly  good  to  him 
through  all  the  little  humors  and  pettishnesses  that  al- 
most always  accompany  a  large  brain,  a  nervous  tempera- 
ment, and  delicate  health.  Her  quietness  soothed  him,  her 
strength  of  character  supported  him ;  he  at  once  leaned 
on  her  and  ruled  over  her. 

As  to  Elizabeth's  feelings  toward  Tom,  they  will  hardly 
bear  analyzing;  probably  hardly  any  strong  emotion  will, 
especially  one  that  is  not  sudden,  but  progressive.  She 
admired  him  extremely,  and  yet  she  was  half  sorry  for 
him.  Some  things  in  him  she  did  not  at  all  like,  and  tried 
heartily  to  amend.  His  nervous  fancies,  irritations,  and 
vagaries  she  was  exceedingly  tender  over;  she  looked  up 
to  him,  and  yet  took  care  of  him  ;  this  thought  of  him, 
and  anxiety  over  him,  became  by  degrees  the  habit  of  her 
life.  People  love  in  so  many  different  ways;  and  per- 
haps that  was  the  natural  way  in  which  a  woman  like  Eliz- 
abeth would  love,  or  creepi  nto  love  without  knowing  it, 
which  is  either  the  safest  or  the  saddest  form  which  the 
passion  can  assume. 

Thus  things  went  on,  till  one  dark,  rainy  Sunday  night, 
walking  round  and  round  the  inner  circle  of  the  square, 
Tom  expressed  his  feelings,  at  first  in  somewhat  high 
flown  and  poetical  phrases,  then  melting  into  the; one  eter- 

L 


242  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

Dally  old  and  eternally  new  "  Do  you  love  me  ?"  followed 
by  a  long,  long  kiss,  given  under  shelter  of  the  umbrella, 
and  in  mortal  fear  of  the  approaching  policeman,  who, 
however,  never  saw  them,  or  saw  them  only  as  "  a  pair  of 
sweethearts" — too  common  an  occurrence  on  his  beat  to 
excite  any  attention. 

But  to  Elizabeth  the  whole  thing  was  new,  wonderful ; 
a  bliss  so  far  beyond  any  thing  that  had  ever  befallen  her 
simple  life,  and  so  utterly  unexpected  therein,  that  when 
she  went  to  her  bed  that  night  she  cried  like  a  child  over 
the  happiness  of  Tom  loving  her,  and  her  exceeding  un- 
worthiness  of  the  same. 

Then  difficulties  arose  in  her  mind.  "  No  followers  al- 
lowed" was  one  of  the  strict  laws  of  the  Russell  Square 
dynasty.  Like  many  another  law  of  that  and  of  much 
higher  dynasties,  it  was  only  made  to  be  broken;  for  stray 
sweethearts  were  continually  climbing  down  area  railings, 
or  over  garden  walls,  or  hiding  themselves  behind  kitchen 
doors.  Nay,  to  such  an  extent  was  the  system  carried  out, 
each  servant  being,  from  self-interest,  a  safe  co-conspirator, 
that  very  often,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ascott  went  out  to  din- 
ner, and  the  old  housekeeper  retired  to  bed,  there  were  reg- 
ular symposia  held  below  stairs — nice  little  supper-parties, 
where  all  the  viands  in  the  pantry  and  the  wines  in  the 
cellar  were  freely  used ;  where  every  domestic  had  his  or 
her  "  young  man"  or  "  young  woman,"  and  the  goings-on, 
though  not  actually  discreditable,  were  of  the  most  lively 
kind. 

To  be  cognizant  of  these,  and  yet  to  feel  that,  as  there 
was  no  actual  wickedness  going  on,  she  was  not  justified 
in  "  blabbing,"  was  a  severe  and  perpetual  trial  to  Eliza- 
beth. To  join  them,  or  bring  Tom  among  them  as  her 
"  young  man,"  was  impossible. 

"  No,  Tom,"  she  said,  when  he  begged  hard  to  come  in 
one  evening — for  it  was  raining  fast,  and  he  had  a  bad 
cough — "  No,  Tom,  I  can't  let  you.  If  other  folk  break 
the  lawTs  of  the  house,  I  won't;  you  must  go.  I  can  only 
meet  you  out  of  doors." 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  243 

And  yet  to  do  this  surreptitiously,  just  as  if  she  were 
ashamed  of  him,  or  as  if  there  were  something  wrong  in 
their  being  fond  of  one  another,  jarred  upon  Elizabeth's 
honest  nature.  She  did  not  want  to  make  a  show  of  him, 
especially  to  her  fellow-servants :  she  had  the  true  wom- 
an's instinct  of  liking  to  keep  her  treasures  all  to  herself, 
but  she  had  also  her  sex's  natural  yearning  for  sympathy 
in  the  great  event  of  a  woman's  life.  Bhe  would  have  liked 
to  have  somebody  unto  whom  she  could  say,  "  Tom  has 
asked  me  to  marry  him,"  and  who  would  have  answered 
cordially,  "  It's  all  right ;  he  is  a  good  fellow :  you  are 
sure  to  be  happy." 

Not  that  she  doubted  this ;  but  it  would  have  been  an 
additional  comfort  to  have  a  mother's  blessing,  or  a  sis- 
ter's, or  even  a  friend's,  upon  this  strange  and  sweet  emo- 
tion which  had  come  into  her  life.  So  long  as  it  was  thus 
kept  secret  there  seemed  a  certain  incompleteness  and  un- 
sanctity  about  even  their  happy  love. 

Tom  did  not  comprehend  this  at  all.  He  only  laughed  at 
her  for  feeling  so  "  nesh"  (that  means  tender,  sensitive ;  but 
the  word  is  almost  unexplainable  to  other  than  Stowbury 
ears)  on  the  subject.  He  liked  the  romance  and  excite- 
ment of  secret  courtship — men  often  do;  rarely  women, 
unless  there  is  something  in  them  not  quite  right,  not  en- 
tirely womanly. 

But  Tom  was  very  considerate,  and  though  he  called  it 
"  silly,"  and  took  a  little  fit  of  crossness  on  the  occasion, 
he  allowed  Elizabeth  to  write  to  her  mother  about  him, 
and  consented  that  on  her  next  holiday  she  should  go  to 
Richmond,  in  order  to  speak  to  Miss  Hilary  on  the  same 
subject,  and  ask  her  also  to  write  to  Mrs.  Hand,  stating 
how  good  and  clever  Tom  was,  and  how  exceedingly  hap- 
py was  Tom's  Elizabeth. 

"And  won't  you  come  and  fetch  me,  Tom?"  asked  she, 
shyly.  "  I  am  sure  Miss  Hilary  would  not  object,  nor  Miss 
Leaf  neither." 

Tom  protested  he  did  not  care  two  straws  whether  they 
objected  or  not;  he  was  a  man  of  twenty,  in  a  good  trade 


244  MISTRESS   AND    MAID. 

—he  had  lately  gone  back  to  the  printing,  and  being  a 
clever  workman,  earned  capital  wages.  He  had  a  right 
to  choose  whom  he  liked,  and  marry  when  he  pleased.  If 
Elizabeth  didn't  care  for  him,  she  might  leave  him  alone. 

"  Oh,  Tom !"  was  all  she  answered,  with  a  strange  gen- 
tleness that  no  one  could  have  believed  would  ever  have 
come  into  the  manner  of  South  Sea  Islander.  And  quit- 
ting the  subject  then,  she  afterward  persuaded  him,  and 
not  for  the  first  time,  into  consenting  to  what  she  thought 
right.  There  is  something  rather  touching  in  a  servant's 
holiday.  It  comes  so  seldom.  She  must  count  on  it  for 
so  long  beforehand,  and  remember  it  for  so  long  afterward. 
This  present  writer  owns  to  a  strong  sympathy  with  the 
holiday-makers  on  the  grand  gala-days  of  the  English  cal- 
endar. It  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  the  innumerable  groups 
of  family  folk,  little  children,  arid  'prentice  lads, 

"Dressed  in  all  their  best, 
To  walk  abroad  with  Sally." 

And  the  various  "  Sallys"  and  their  corresponding  swains 
can  hardly  feel  more  regret  than  she  when  it  happens  to 
be  wet  weather  on  Easter  week  or  at  Whitsuntide. 

Whit-Monday,  the  day  when  Tom  escaped  from  the  print- 
ing-office, and  Elizabeth  got  leave  of  absence  for  six  hours, 
was  as  glorious  a  June  day  as  well  could  be.  As  the  two 
young  people  perched  themselves  on  the  top  of  the  Rich- 
mond omnibus,  and  drove  through  Kensington,  Hammer- 
smith, Turnham  Green,  and  over  Kew  Bridge — Tom  point- 
ing out  all  the  places,  and  giving  much  curious  information 
about  them — Elizabeth  thought  there  never  was  a  more 
beautiful  country  or  a  more  lovely  summer  day :  she  was, 
she  truly  said,  "  as  happy  as  a  queen." 

Nevertheless,  when  the  omnibus  stopped,  she,  with  great 
self-denial,  insisted  on  getting  rid  of  Tom  for  a  time.  She 
thought  Miss  Hilary  might  not  quite  like  Tom's  knowing 
where  she  lived,  or  what  her  occupation  was,  lest  he  might 
gossip  about  it  to  Stowbury  people;  so  she  determined  to 
pay  her  visit  by  herself,  and  appointed  to  meet  him  at  a 
certain  hour  on  Richmond  Bridge,  over  which  bridge  she 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  245 

watched  him  march  sulkily,  not  without  a  natural  pleasure 
that  he  should  be  so  much  vexed  at  losing  her  company  for 
an  hour  or  two.  But  she  knew  he  would  soon  come  to  him- 
self— as  he  did,  before  he  had  been  half  a  mile  on  the  road 
to  Hampton  Court,  meeting  a  young  fellow  he  knew,  and 
going  with  him  over  that- grand  old  palace,  which  furnished 
them  with  a  subject  at  their  next  debating  society,  where 
they  both  came  out  very  strong  on  the  question  of  hypo- 
critical priests  and  obnoxious  kings,  with  especial  reference 
to  Henry  VIII.  and  Cardinal  Wolsey. 

Meanwhile  Elizabeth  went  in  search  of  the  little  shop — 
which  nobody  need  expect  to  find  at  Richmond  now — bear- 
ing the  well-known  name  "Janet  Balquidder."  Entering 
it,  for  there  was  no  private  door,  she  saw,  in  the  far  corner 
above  the  curtained  desk,  the  pretty  curls  of  her  dear  Miss 
Hilary. 

Elizabeth  had  long  known  that  her  mistress  "  kept  a 
shop,"  and  with  the  notions  of  gentility  which  are  just  as 
rife  in  her  class  as  in  any  other,  had  mourned  bitterly  over 
this  fact.  But  when  she  saw  how  fresh  and  well  the  young 
lady  looked,  how  busily  and  cheerfully  she  seemed  to  work 
with  her  great  books  before  her,  and  with  what  a  composed 
grace  and  dignity  she  came  forward  when  asked  for,  Eliz- 
abeth secretly  confessed  that  not  even  keeping  a  shop  had 
made  or  could  make  the  smallest  difference  in  Miss  Hilary. 

She  herself  was  much  more  changed. 

"  Why,  Elizabeth,  I  should  hardly  have  known  you  !" 
was  the  involuntary  exclamation  of  her  late  mistress. 

She  certainly  did  look  very  nice ;  not  smart — for  her  so- 
ber taste  preferred  quiet  colors — but  excessively  neat  and 
well  dressed.  In  her  new  gown  of  gray  "  coburg,"  her  one 
handsome  shawl,  which  had  been  honored  several  times  by 
Miss  Hilary's  wearing,  her  white  straw  bonnet  and  white 
ribbons,  underneath  which  the  smooth  black  hair  and  soft 
eyes  showed  to  great  advantage,  she  appeared,  not  "like 
a  lady" — a  servant  can  seldom  do  that,  let  her  dress  be 
ever  so  fine — but  like  a  thoroughly  respectable,  intelligent, 
and  pleasant-faced  young  woman. 


246  MISTEESS   AND  MAID. 

And  her  blushes  came  and  went  so  fast,  she  was  so  nerv- 
ous and  yet  so  beamingly  happy,  that  Miss  Hilary  soon  sus- 
pected there  was  more  in  this  visit  than  at  first  appeared. 
Knowing  that  with  Elizabeth's  great  shyness  the  mystery 
would  never  come  out  in  public,  she  took  an  opportunity 
of  asking  her  to  help  her  in  the  -bedroom,  and  there,  with 
the  folding-doors  safely  shut,  discovered  the  whole  secret. 

Miss  Hilary  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at  first.  She  had 
never  thought  of  Elizabeth  as  likely  to  get  married  at  all 
—and  to  Tom  Cliffe. 

"  Why,  isn't  he  a  mere  boy ;  ever  so  much  younger  than 
you  are  ?" 

"Three  years." 

"  That  is  a  pity — a  great  pity ;  women  grow  old  so  much 
faster  than  men." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Elizabeth,  somewhat  sorrowfully. 

"Besides,  did  you  not  tell  me  he  was  very  handsome  and 
clever  ?" 

"Yes;  and  I'm  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  have 
thought  all  that  over  too,  many  a  time ;  indeed  I  have,  Miss 
Hilary.  But  Tom  likes  me — or  fancies  he  does.  Do  you 
think" — and  the  intense  humility  which  true  love  always 
has,  struck  into  Miss  Hilary's  own  conscious  heart  a  con- 
viction of  how  very  true  this  poor  girl's  love  must  be.  "Do 
you  think  he  is  mistaken  ?  that  his  liking  me — I  mean  in 
that  sort  of  way — is  quite  impossible  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  and  I  never  said  it — never  thought  it,"  was 
the  earnest  reply.  "But  consider;  three  years  younger 
than  yourself;  handsomer  and  cleverer  than  you  are — " 

Miss  Hilary  stopped ;  it  seemed  so  cruel  to  say  such 
things,  and  yet  she  felt  bound  to  say  them.  She  knew 
her  former  "  bower-maiden"  well  enough  to  be  convinced 
that  if  Elizabeth  were  not  happy  in  marriage  she  would 
be  worse  than  unhappy — might  grow  actually  bad. 

"  He  loves  you  noAv ;  you  are  sure  of  that ;  but  are  you 
sure  that  he  is  a  thoroughly  stable  and  reliable  character? 
Do  you  believe  he  will  love  you  always  ?" 

"  I  can't  tell.  Perhaps — if  I  deserved  it,"  said  poor  Eliz- 
abeth. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  247 

And,  looking  at  the  downcast  eyes,  at  the  thorough  wom- 
anly swreetness  and  tenderness  which  suffused  the  whole 
face,  Hilary's  doubts  began  to  melt  away.  She  thought 
how  sometimes  men,  captivated  by  inward  rather  than  out- 
ward graces,  have  fallen  in  love  with  plain  women,  or  wom- 
en older  than  themselves,  and  actually  kept  to  their  attach- 
ment through  life  with  a  fidelity  rare  as  beautiful.  Per- 
haps this  young  fellow,  who  seemed,  by  all  accounts,  supe- 
rior to  his  class,  having  had  the  sense  to  choose  that  pearl 
in  an  oyster-shell,  Elizabeth  Hand,  might  also  have  the 
sense  to  appreciate  her,  and  go  on  loving  her  to  the  end 
of  his  days.  Anyhow,  he  loved  her  now,  and  she  loved 
him,  and  it  was  useless  reasoning  any  more  about  it. 

"  Come, Elizabeth,"  cried  her  mistress, cheerfully,  "I  have 
said  all  my  say,  and  now  I  have  only  to  give  my  good  wish- 
es. If  Tom  Cliffe  deserves  you,  I  am  sure  you  deserve  him, 
and  I  should  like  to  tell  him  so." 

"  Should  you,  Miss  Hilary  ?"  and  with  a  visible  brighten- 
ing up  Elizabeth  betrayed  Tom's  whereabouts,  and  her  lit- 
tle conspiracy  to  bring  him  here,  and  her  hesitation  lest  it 
might  be  "  intruding." 

"  Not  at  all.  Tell  him  to  come  at  once.  I  am  not  like 
my  sister ;  we  always  allow  '  followers.'  I  think  a  mistress 
stands  in  the  relation  of  a  parent  for  the  time  being,  and 
that  can  not  be  a  right  or  good  love  which  is  concealed 
from  her,  as  if  it  were  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"  I  think  so  too.  And  I'm  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  Tom, 
nor  he  of  me,"  said  Elizabeth,  so  energetically  that  Miss 
Hilary  smiled. 

"Very  well ;  take  him  to  have  his  tea  in  the  kitchen,  and 
then  bring  him  up  stairs  to  speak  to  my  sister  and  me." 

At  that  interview,  which  of  course  was  rather  trying, 
Tom  acquitted  himself  to  every  body's  satisfaction.  He 
was  manly,  modest,  self-possessed  ;  did  not  say  much — his 
usual  talkativeness  being  restrained  by  the  circumstances 
of  the  case,  and  the  great  impression  made  upon  him  by 
Miss  Hilary,  who,  he  afterward  admitted  to  Elizabeth, 
"  was  a  real  angel,  and  he  should  write  a  poem  upon  her." 


248  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

But  the  little  he  did  say  gave  the  ladies  a  very  good  im- 
pression of  the  intelligence  and  even  refinement  of  Eliza- 
beth's sweetheart.  And  though  they  were  sorry  to  see 
him  look  so  delicate,  still  there  was  a  something  better 
than  handsomeness  in  his  handsome  face,  which  made  them 
not  altogether  surprised  at  Elizabeth's  being  so  fond  of 
him. 

As  she  watched  the  young  couple  down  Richmond  Street 
in  the  soft  summer  twilight — Elizabeth  taking  Tom's  arm, 
and  Tom  drawing  up  his  stooping  figure  to  its  utmost  ex- 
tent, both  a  little  ill  matched  in  height  as  they  were  in  some 
other  things,  but  walking  with  that  air  of  perfect  confi- 
dence and  perfect  contentedness  in  each  other  which  always 
betrays,  to  a  quick  eye,  those  who  have  agreed  to  walk 
through  the  world  together — Miss  Hilary  turned  from  the 
window  and  sighed. 


CHAFFER  XXIII. 

FOLLOWING  Miss  Hilary's  earnest  advice  that  every  thing 
should  be  fair  and  open,  Elizabeth,  on  the  very  next  day 
after  that  happy  Whit-Monday,  mustered  up  her  courage, 
asked  permission  to  speak  to  her  mistress,  and  told  her  she 
was  going  to  be  married  to  Tom  Cliffe ;  not  immediately, 
but  in  a  year's  time  or  so,  if  all  went  well. 

Mrs.  Ascott  replied  sharply  that  it  was  no  affair  of  hers, 
and  she  could  not  be  troubled  about  it.  For  her  part,  she 
thought,  if  servants  knew  their  own  advantages,  they  would 
keep  a  good  place  when  they  had  it,  and  never  get  married 
at  all.  And  then,  saying  she  had  heard  a  good  character 
of  her  from  the  housekeeper,  she  offered  Elizabeth  the  place 
of  upper  house-maid,  a  young  girl,  a  protegee  of  the  house- 
keeper's, being  substituted  in  hers. 

"  And  when  you  have  sixteen  pounds  a  year,  and  some- 
body to  do  all  your  hard  work  for  you,  I  dare  say  you'll 
think  better  of  it,  and  not  be  so  foolish  as  to  go  and  get 
married." 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  249 

But  Elizabeth  had  her  own  private  opinion  on  that  mat- 
ter. She  was  but  a  woman,  poor  thing !  and  two  tiny 
rooms  of  her  own,  with  Tom  to  care  for  and  look  after, 
seemed  a  far  happier  home  than  that  great  house,  where  she 
had  not  only  her  own  work  to  do,  but  the  responsibility 
of  teaching  and  taking  charge  of  that  careless,  stupid,  pret- 
ty Esther,  Avho  had  all  the  forwardness,  untidiness,  and  un- 
conscientiousness  of  a  regular  London  maid-servant,  and 
was  a  sore  trial  to  the  staid,  steady  Elizabeth. 

Tom  consoled  her,  in  his  careless  but  affectionate  way ; 
and  another  silent  consolation  was  the  "little  bits  of  things," 
bought  out  of  her  additional  wages,  which  she  began  to 
put  by  in  her  box — sticks  and  straws  for  the  new  sweet 
nest  that  was  a-building :  a  metal  tea-pot,  two  neat  glass 
salt-cellars,  and — awful  extravagance  ! — two  real  second- 
hand silver  spoons — Tom  did  so  like  having  things  nice 
about  him !  These  purchases,  picked  up  at  stray  times, 
were  solid,  substantial,  and  useful ;  domestic  rather  than 
personal;  and  all  with  a  view  to  Tom  rather  than  herself 
She  hid  them  with  a  magpie-like  closeness,  for  Esther  and 
she  shared  the  same  room;  but  sometimes  when  Esther 
was  asleep  she  would  peep  at  them  with  an  anxious,  lin- 
gering tenderness,  as  if  they  made  more  of  an  assured  re- 
ality what  even  now  seemed  so  very  like  a  dream. 

—Except,  indeed,  on  those  Sunday  nights  when  Tom  and 
she  went  to  church  together,  and  afterward  took  a  walk, 
but  always  parted  at  the  corner  of  the  square.  She  never 
brought  him  in  to  the  house,  nor  spoke  of  him  to  her  fel- 
low-servants. How  much  they  guessed  of  her  engagement 
she  neither  knew  nor  cared. 

Mrs.  Ascott,  too,  had  apparently  quite  forgotten  it.  She 
seemed  to  take  as  little  interest  in  her  servants'  affairs  as 
they  in  hers. 

Nevertheless,  ignorant  as  the  lower  regions  were  in  gen- 
eral of  what  was  passing  in  the  upper,  occasionally  rumors 
began  to  reach  the  kitchen  that  "master  had  been  a-blow- 
ing  up  missis,  rather !"  And  once,  after  the  solemn  dinner, 
with  three  footmen  to  wait  on  two  people,  was  over,  Eliza- 

L2 


250  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

beth,  passing  through  the  hall,  caught  the  said  domestics 
laughing  together,  and  saying  it  was  "  as  good  as  a  play ; 
cat  and  dog  was  nothing  to  it."  After  which  "  the  rows  up 
stairs"  became  a  favorite  joke  in  the  servants'  hall. 

But  still  Mr.  Ascott  went  out  daily  after  breakfast,  and 
came  home  to  dinner ;  and  Mrs.  Ascott  spent  the  morning 
in  her  private  sitting-room  or  "boudoir,"  as  she  called  it; 
lunched,  and  drove  out  in  her  handsome  carriage,  with  her 
footman  behind ;  dressed  elegantly  for  dinner,  and  presided 
at  her  own  table  with  an  air  of  magnificent  satisfaction  in 
all  things.  She  had  perfectly  accommodated  herself  to  her 
new  position  ;  and  if  under  her  satins  and  laces  beat  a  soli- 
tary, dissatisfied,  or  aching  heart,  it  was  nobody's  business 
but  her  own.  At  least,  she  kept  up  the  splendid  sham  with 
a  most  creditable  persistency. 

But  all  shams  are  dangerous  things.  Be  the  surface  ever 
so  smooth  and  green,  it  will  crack  sometimes,  and  a  faint 
wreath  of  smoke  betray  the  inward  volcano.  The  like  had 
happened  once  or  twice,  as  on  the  day  when  the  men-serv- 
ants were  so  intensely  amused.  Also  Elizabeth,  when  put- 
ting in  order  her  mistress's  bedroom,  which  was  about  the 
hour  Mr.  Ascott  left  for  the  city,  had  several  times  seen  Mrs. 
Ascott  come  in  there  suddenly,  white  and  trembling.  Once, 
so  agitated  was  she,  that  Elizabeth  had  brought  her  a  glass 
of  water;  and  instead  of  being  angry  or  treating  her  with 
the  distant  dignity  which  she  had  always  kept  up,  her  mis- 
tress had  said,  almost  in  the  old  Stowbury  tone,  "  Thank 
you,  Elizabeth." 

However,  Elizabeth  had  the  wisdom  to  take  no  notice, 
but  to  slip  from  the  room,  and  keep  her  own  counsel. 

At  last,  one  day,  the  smouldering  domestic  earthquake 
broke  out.  There  was  "  a  precious  good  row,"  the  foot- 
man suspected,  at  the  breakfast-table ;  and  after  breakfast, 
master,  without  waiting  for  the  usual  attendance  of  that 
functionary  with  his  hat,  and  gloves,  and  a  Hansom  cab, 
had  flung  himself  out  at  the  hall  door,  slamming  it  after 
him  with  a  noise  that  startled  the  whole  house.  Shortly 
afterward  "  missis's"  bell  had  rung  violently,  and  she  had 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  251 

been  found  lying  on  the  floor  of  her  bedroom  in  a  dead 
faint,  her  maid,  a  foolish  little  Frenchwoman,  screaming 
over  her. 

The  frightened  servants  gathered  round  in  a  cluster,  but 
nobody  attempted  to  touch  the  poor  lady,  who  lay  rigid 
and  helpless,  hearing  none  of  the  comments  that  were  free- 
ly made  upon  her,  or  the  conjectures  as  to  what  master 
had  done  or  said  that  produced  this  state  of  things.  Mis- 
tress she  was,  and  these  four  or  five  women,  her  servants, 
had  lived  in  her  house  for  months, but  nobody  loved  her; 
nobody  knew  any  thing  about  her;  nobody  thought  of  do- 
ing aught  for  her,  till  a  kitchen-maid,  probably  out  of  for- 
mer experience  in  some  domestic  emergency,  suggested, 
"  Fetch  Elizabeth." 

The  advice  was  eagerly  caught  at,  every  body  being  so 
thankful  to  have  the  responsibility  shifted  to  some  other 
body's  shoulders;  so  in  five  minutes  Elizabeth  had  the 
room  cleared,  and  her  mistress  laid  upon  the  bed,  with  no- 
body near  except  herself  and  the  French  maid. 

By-and-by  Mrs.  Ascott  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Who's  that  ?    What  are  you  doing  to  me  ?" 

"  Nothing,  ma'am.     It's  only  me — Elizabeth." 

At  the  familiar  soothing  voice  the  poor  woman — a  poor, 
wretched,  forlorn  woman  she  looked,  lying  there,  in  spite 
of  all  her  grandeur — turned  feebly  round. 

"  Oh,  Elizabeth,  I'm  so  ill!  take  care  of  me."  And  she 
fainted  away  once  more. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  came  quite  to  herself,  and 
then  the  first  thing  she  said  was  to  bid  Elizabeth  bolt  the 
door  and  keep  every  body  out. 

u  The  doctor,  ma'am,  if  he  comes  ?" 

"  I'll  not  see  him.  I  don't  want  him.  I  know  what  it  is. 
I—" 

She  pulled  Elizabeth  closer  to  her,  whispered  something 
in  her  ear,  and  then  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  hysterical 
weeping. 

Amazed,  shocked,  Elizabeth  at  first  did  not  know  what 
to  do;  then  she  took  her  mistress's  head  on  her  shoulder, 


252  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

and  quieted  her  by  degrees  almost  as  she  would  a  child. 
The  sobbing  ceased,  and  Mrs.  Ascott  lay  still  a  minute,  till 
suddenly  she  clutched  Elizabeth's  arm. 

"Mind  you  don't  tell.  He  doesn't  know,  and  he  shall 
not ;  it  would  please  him  so.  It  does  not  please  me.  Some- 
times I  almost  think  I  shall  hate  it  because  it  is  his  child." 

She  spoke  with  a  fierceness  that  was  hardly  credible  ei- 
ther in  the  dignified  Mrs.  Peter  Ascott  or  the  languid  Miss 
Selina.  To  think  of  Miss  Selina's  expecting  a  baby  !  The 
idea  perfectly  confounded  poor  Elizabeth. 

"  I  don't  know  very  much  about  such  matters,"  said  she, 
deprecatingly ;  "  but  I'm  sure,  ma'am,  you  ought  to  keep 
yourself  quiet,  and  I  wouldn't  hate  the  poor  little  baby  if 
I  were  you.  It  may  be  a  very  nice  little  thing,  and  turn 
out  a  great  comfort  to  you." 

Mrs.  Ascott  lifted  her  heavy  eyes  to  the  kindly,  sympa- 
thetic, womanly  face — thorough  woman,  for,  as  Elizabeth 
went  on,  her  heart  warmed  with  the  strong  instinct  which 
comes  almost  of  itself. 

"  Think,  to  have  a  tiny  little  creature  lying  here  beside 
you;  something  your  very  own,  with  its  pretty  face  look- 
ing so  innocent  and  sweet  at  you,  and  its  pretty  fingers 
touching  you."  Here  Elizabeth's  voice  quite  faltered  over 
the  picture  she  had  drawn.  "  Oh,  ma'am,  I'm  sure  you 
would  be  so  fond  of  it." 

Human  nature  is  strong.  This  cold,  selfish  woman,  liv- 
ing her  forty  years  without  any  strong  emotion,  marrying 
without  love,  and  reaping,  not  in  contrition,  but  angry  bit- 
terness, the  certain  punishment  of  such  a  marriage,  even 
this  woman  was  not  proof  against  the  glorious  mystery  of 
maternity,  which  should  make  every  daughter  of  Eve  feel 
the  first  sure  hope  of  her  first-born  child  to  be  a  sort  of  di- 
vine annunciation. 

Mrs.  Ascott  lay  listening  to  Elizabeth.  Gradually 
through  her  shut  eyelids  a  few  quiet  tears  began  to  flow. 

"  Do  you  mind  me  talking  to  you  this  way,  ma'am  ?" 

"  No,  no !  Say  what  you  like.  I'm  glad  to  have  any 
body  to  speak  to.  Oh,  I  am  a  very  miserable  woman  1" 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  253 

Strange  that  Selina  Ascott  should  come  to  betray,  and 
to  Elizabeth  Hand,  of  all  people,  that  she  was  a  "  misera- 
ble woman."  But  circumstances  bring  about  unforeseen 
confidences;  and  the  confidence  once  given  is  not  easily 
recalled.  Apparently  the  lady  did  not  wish  to  recall  it. 
In  the  solitude  of  her  splendid  house,  in  her  total  want  of 
all  female  companionship — for  she  refused  to  have  her  sis- 
ters sent  for — "he  would  only  insult  them,  and  I'll  not  have 
my  family  insulted" — poor  Selina  clung  to  her  old  servant 
as  the  only  comfort  she  had. 

During  the  dreary  months  that  followed,  when,  during 
the  long,  close  summer  days,  the  sick  lady  scarcely  stirred 
from  her  bedroom,  and,  fretful,  peevish,  made  the  very  most 
of  what  to  women  in  general  are  such  patiently  borne  and 
sacred  sufferings,  Elizabeth  was  her  constant  attendant. 
She  humored  all  her  whims,  endured  all  her  ill  tempers, 
cheered  her  in  her  low  spirits,  and  was,  in  fact,  her  mis- 
tress's sole  companion  and  friend. 

This  position  no  one  disputed  with  her.  It  is  not  every 
woman  who  has,  as  Miss  Leaf  used  to  say  of  Elizabeth, "  a 
genius  for  nursing ;"  and  very  few  patients  make  nursing 
a  labor  of  love.  The  whole  household  were  considerably 
relieved  by  her  taking  a  responsibility  for  which  she  was 
so  well  fitted  and  so  little  envied.  Even  Mr.  Ascott,  who, 
when  his  approaching  honors  could  no  longer  be  concealed 
from  him,  became  for  the  nonce  a  most  attentive  husband, 
and  succumbed  dutifully  to  every  fancy  his  wife  enter- 
tained, openly  expressed  his  satisfaction  in  Elizabeth,  and 
gave  her  one  or  two  bright  golden  guineas  in  earnest  of 
his  gratitude. 

How  far  she  herself  appreciated  her  new  and  important 
position ;  whether  her  duties  were  done  from  duty,  or  pity, 
or  that  determined  self-devotedness  which  some  women 
are  always  ready  to  carry  out  toward  any  helpless  thing 
that  needs  the.ni,  I  can  not  say,  for  she  never  told.  Not 
even  to  Miss  Hilary,  who  at  last  was  permitted  to  come 
and  pay  a  formal  visit ;  nor  to  Tom  Cliffe,  whom  she  now 
saw  very  rarely,  for  her  mistress,  with  characteristic  self- 


254  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

islmess,  would  hardly  let  her  out  of  her  sight  for  half  an 
hour. 

Tom  at  first  was  exceedingly  savage  at  this ;  by  degrees 
he  got  more  reconciled,  and  met  his  sweetheart  now  and 
then  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  area  gate,  or  wrote  her  long 
poetical  letters,  which  he  confided  to  some  of  her  fellow- 
servants,  who  thereby  got  acquainted  with  their  secret. 
But  it  mattered  little,  as  Elizabeth  had  faithfully  promised 
chat,  when  her  mistress's  trial  was  over,  and  every  thing 
smooth  and  happy,  she  would  marry  Tom  at  once.  So  she 
took  the  jokes  below  stairs  with  great  composure,  feeling, 
indeed,  too  proud  and  content  to  perplex  herself  much 
about  any  thing. 

Nevertheless,  her  life  was  not  easy,  for  Mrs.  Ascott  was 
very  difficult  to  manage.  She  resisted  angrily  all  the  per- 
sonal sacrifices  entailed  by  impending  motherhood,  and  its 
terrors  and  forebodings  used  to  come  over  her — poor  wreak 
woman  that  she  was ! — in  a  way  that  required  all  Eliza- 
beth's reasonings  to  counteract,  and  all  her  self-control  to 
hide  the  presentiment  of  evil,  not  unnatural  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

Yet  sometimes  poor  Mrs.  Ascott  would  take  fits  of  pa- 
thetic happiness,  when  she  busied  herself  eagerly  over  the 
preparations  for  the  new-comer;  would  make  Elizabeth 
take  out,  over  and  over  again,  the  little  clothes,  and  exam- 
ine them  with  childish  delight.  Sometimes  she  would  gos- 
sip for  hours  over  the  blessing  that  was  sent  to  her  so  late 
in  life — half  regretting  that  it  had  come  so  late;  that  she 
should  be  almost  an  old  woman  before  her  little  son  or 
daughter  was  grown  up. 

"  Still,  I  may  live  to  see  it,  you  know  :  to  have  a  pretty 
girl  to  take  on  my  arm  into  a  ballroom,  or  a  big  fellow  to 
send  to  college :  the  Leafs  always  went  to  college  in  old 
times.  He  shall  be  Henry  Leaf  Ascott,  that  I  am  deter- 
mined on ;  and  if  it's  a  girl,  perhaps  I  may  call  her  Johan- 
na. My  sister  would  like  it — wouldn't  she  ?" 

For  more  and  more,  in  the  strange  softening  of  her  na- 
ture, did  Selina  go  back  to  the  old  ties. 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  255 

"  I  am  not  older  than  my  mother  was  when  Hilary  was 
born.  She  died,  but  that  was  because  of  trouble.  Women 
do  not  necessarily  die  in  childbirth  even  at  forty ;  and  in 
twenty  years  more  I  shall  only  be  sixty — not  such  a  very 
old  woman.  Besides,  mothers  never  are  old  ;  at  least  not 
to  their  children.  Don't  you  think  so,  Elizabeth  ?" 

And  Elizabeth  answered  as  she  best  could.  She  too,  out 
of  sympathy  or  instinct,  was  becoming  wondrous  wise. 

But  I  am  aware  all  this  will  be  thought  very  uninterest- 
ing, except  by  women  and  mothers.  Let  me  hasten  on. 

By  degrees,  as  Mrs.  Ascott's  hour  approached,  a  curious 
tranquillity  and  even  gentleness  came  over  her.  Her  fret- 
ful dislike  of  seeing  any  face  about  her  but  Elizabeth's  be- 
came less.  She  even  endured  her  husband's  company  for 
an  hour  of  an  evening,  and  at  last  humbled  her  pride  enough 
to  beg  him  to  invite  her  sisters  to  Russell  Square  from  Sat- 
urday to  Monday,  the  only  time  when  Hilary  could  be 
spared. 

"For  we  don't  know  what  may  happen,"  said  she  to  him, 
rather  seriously. 

And  though  he  answered,  "  Oh,  nonsense  !"  and  desired 
her  to  get  such  ridiculous  fancies  out  of  her  head,  still  he 
consented,  and  himself  wrote  to  Miss  Leaf,  giving  the  for- 
mal invitation. 

The  three  sisters  spent  a  happy  time  together,  and  Hilary 
made  some  highly  appreciated  family  jokes  about  the  hand- 
some Christmas  box  that  Selina  was  going  to  be  so  kind  as 
to  give  them,  and  the  small  probability  that  she  would  have 
much  enjoyment  of  the  Christmas  dinner  to  which  Mr.  As- 
cott,  in  the  superabundance  of  his  good  feeling,  had  invited 
his  sisters-in-law.  The  baby,  blessed  innocent !  seemed  to 
have  softened  down  all  things — as  babies  often  do. 

Altogether,  it  was  with  great  cheerfulness,  affectionate- 
ness,  and  hope  that  they  took  leave  of  Selina ;  she,  with  un- 
wonted consideration,  insisting  that  the  carriage  should 
convey  them  all  the  way  to  Richmond. 

"And,"  she  said,"  perhaps  some  of  these  days  my  son,  if 
he  is  a  son,  may  have  the  pleasure  of  escorting  his  aunts 


256  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

home.  I  shall  certainly  call  him  '  Henry  Leaf,'  and  bring 
him  up  to  be  in  every  way  a  credit  to  our  family." 

When  the  ladies  were  away,  and  Mrs.  Ascott  had  retired 
to  bed,  it  was  still  only  nine  o'clocli,  and  a  bright  moonlight 
night.  Elizabeth  thought  she  could  steal  down  stairs  and 
try  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air  round  the  square.  Her 
long  confinement  made  her  almost  sick  sometimes  for  a 
sight  of  the  outer  world,  a  sight  of— let  me  tell  .the  entire 
truth — her  own  faithful  Tom. 

She  had  not  seen  him  now  for  fourteen  days,  and  though 
his  letters  were  very  nice  and  exceedingly  clever,  still  she 
craved  for  a  look  at  his  face,  a  grasp  of  his  hand,  perhaps 
even  a  kiss,  long,  and  close,  and  tender,  such  as  he  would 
sometimes  insist  upon  giving  her,  in  spite  of  all  policemen. 
His  love  for  her,  demonstrative  as  was  his  nature,  had  be- 
come to  this  still,  quiet  girl  inexpressibly  sweet — far  sweet- 
er than  she  knew. 

It  was  a  clear  winter  night,  and  the  moon  went  climbing 
over  the  fleecy  white  clouds  in  a  way  that  made  beauty 
even  in  Russell  Square.  Elizabeth  looked  up  at  the  sky, 
and  thought  how  Tom  would  have  enjoyed  it,  and  wished 
he  were  beside  her,  and  was  so  glad  to  think  he  would  soon 
be  beside  her  always,  with  all  his  humors  and  weaknesses, 
all  his  little  crossnesses  and  complainings ;  she  could  put 
up  with  all,  and  be  happy  through  all,  if  only  she  had  him 
with  her  and  loving  her. 

His  love  for  her,  though  fitful  and  fanciful,  was  yet  so 
warm  and  real  that  it  had  become  a  necessity  of  her  life. 
As  he  always  told  her — especially  after  he  had  had  one  of 
his  little  quarrels  with  her — hers  was  to  him. 

"Poor  Tom,  I  wonder  how  he  gets  on  without  me !  Well, 
it  won't  be  for  long." 

And  she  wished  she  could  have  let  him  know  she  was 
out  here,  that  they  might  have  had  a  chat  for  just  ten  min- 
utes. 

Unconsciously  she  walked  toward  their  usual  trysting- 
place,  a  large,  overhanging  plane-tree  on  the  Keppel  Street 
corner  of  the  square. 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  257 

Surely,  surely,  that  could  not  be  Tom !  Quite  impossi- 
ble, for  he  was  not  alone.  Two  people,  a  young  man  and  a 
young  woman,  stood  at  the  tryst,  absorbed  in  conversation  : 
evidently  sweethearts,  for  he  had  one  arm  around  her,  and 
he  kissed  her  unresisted  several  times. 

Elizabeth  gazed, fascinated,  almost  doubting  the  evidence 
of  her  own  senses.  For  the  young  man's  figure  was  so  ex- 
cessively like  Tom's.  At  length,  with  the  sort  of  feeling 
that  makes  one  go  steadily  up  to  a  shadow  by  the  road- 
side, some  ugly  spectre  that  we  feel  sure,  if  we  stare  it  out, 
will  prove  to  be  a  mere  imagination,  she  walked  deliber- 
ately up  to  and  past  these  "  sweethearts." 

They  did  not  see  her;  they  were  far  too  much  occupied 
with  one  another;  but  she  saw  them,  and  saw  at  once  that 
it  was  Tom,  Tom's  own  self,  and  with  him  her  fellow-serv- 
ant Esther. 

People  may  write  volumes  on  jealousy,  and  volumes  will 
still  remain  to  be  written.  It  is,  next  to  remorse  for  guilt, 
the  sharpest,  sorest,  most  maddening  torment  that  human 
nature  can  endure. 

We  may  sit  and  gaze  from  the  boxes  at  our  Othellos  and 
Biancas ;  we  may  laugh  at  the  silly  heart-burnings  be- 
tween Cousin  Kate  and  Cousin  Lucy  in  the  ballroom,  or 
the  squabbles  of  Mary  and  Sally  in  the  kitchen  over  the 
gardener's  lad,  but  there  the  thing  remains.  A  man  can 
not  make  love  to  two  women,  a  woman  can  not  coquette 
with  two  men,  without  causing  in  degree  that  horrible  ag- 
ony, cruel  as  death,  which  is  at  the  root  of  half  the  trage- 
dies, and  the  cause  of  half  the  crimes  of  this  world. 

The  complaint  comes  in  different  forms ;  sometimes  it  is 
a  case  of  slow  poisoning,  or  of  ordeal  by  red-hot  irons, 
which,  though  not  fatal,  undermines  the  whole  character, 
and  burns  ineffaceable  scars  into  the  soul.  And  people 
take  it  in  various  wrays — some  fiercely,  stung  by  a  sense  of 
wounded  self-love  ;  others  haughtily  : 

"  Pride's  a  safe  robe,  I'll  wear  it ;  but  no  rags." 
Others,  again,  humble,  self-distrustful  natures,  whose  only 


258  MISTBESS    AND   MAID. 

pride  came  through  love,  have  nothing  left  them  except 
rags.  In  a  moment  all  the ir  thin  robes  of  happiness  are 
torn  off;  they  stand  shivering,  naked,  and  helpless  before 
the  blasts  of  the  bitter  world. 

This  was  Elizabeth's  case..  After  the  first  instant  of 
stunned  bewilderment  and  despair  she  took  it  all  quite  nat- 
urally, as  if  it  were  a  thing  which  she  ought  ail  along  to 
have  known  was  sure  to  happen,  and  which  was  no  more 
than  she  expected  and  deserved. 

She  passed  the  couple,  still  unobserved  by  them,  and 
then  walked  round  the  other  side  of  the  square  deliberate- 
ly home. 

I  am  not  going  to  make  a  tragic  heroine  of  this  poor 
servant-girl.  Perhaps,  people  may  say,  there  is  nothing 
tragic  about  the  incident.  Merely  a  plain,  quiet,  old-fash- 
ioned woman,  who  is  so  foolish  as  to  like  a  handsome  young 
swain,  and  to  believe  in  him,  and  to  be  surprised  when  he 
deserts  her  for  a  pretty  girl  of  eighteen.  All  quite  after 
the  way  things  go  on  in  the  world,  especially  in  the  serv- 
ant-world ;  and  the  best  she  can  do  is  to  get  over  it,  or  take 
another  sweetheart  as  quickly  as  possible.  A  very  common 
story  after  all,  and  more  of  a  farce  than  a  tragedy. 

But  there  are  some  farces  which,  if  you  look  underneath 
the  surface,  have  a  good  many  of  the  elements  of  tragedy. 

I  shall  neither  paint  Elizabeth  tearing  her  own  hair  nor 
Esther's,  nor  going  raging  about  the  square  in  moonlight 
in  an  insane  fit  of  jealousy.  She  was  not  given  to  "fits" 
under  any  circumstances  or  about  any  thing.  All  she  felt 
went  deep  down  into  her  heart,  rooted  itself,  and  either 
blossomed  or  cankered  there. 

On  this  night  she,  as  I  said,  walked  round  the  square  to 
her  home,  then  quietly  went  up  stairs  to  her  garret,  locked 
the  door,  and  sat  down  upon  her  bed. 

She  might  have  sat  there  for  an  hour  or  more,  her  bon- 
net and  shawl  still  on,  without  stirring,  without  crying,  al- 
together cold  and  hard  like  a  stone,  when  she  fancied  she 
heard  her  mistress's  bell  ring,  and  mechanically  rose  up 
and  went  down  stairs  to  listen.  Nothing  was  wanted, 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  259 

so  she  returned  to  her  garret  and  crept  to  bed  in  the 
dark. 

When,  soon  afterward,  Esther  likewise  came  up  to  bed, 
Elizabeth  pretended  to  be  asleep.  Only  once,  taking  a 
stealthy  glance  at  the  pretty  girl  who  stood  combing  her 
hair  at  the  looking-glass,  she  was  conscious  of  a  sick  sense 
of  repulsion,  a  pain  like  a  knife  running  through  her  at 
sight  of  the  red  young  lips  which  Tom  had  just  been  kiss- 
ing, of  the  light  figure  which  he  had  clasped  as  he  used  to 
clasp  her.  But  she  never  spoke,  not  one  word. 

Half  an  hour  after  she  was  roused  by  the  nurse  coming 
to  her  bedside.  Mrs.  Ascott  was  very  ill,  and  was  calling 
for  Elizabeth.  Soon  the  whole  establishment  was  in  con- 
fusion, and  in  the  sharp  struggle  between  birth  and  death 
Elizabeth  had  no  time  to  think  of  any  thing  but 'her  mis- 
tress. 

Contrary  to  every  expectation,  all  ended  speedily  and 
happily ;  and  before  he  went  off  to  the  City  next  day,  the 
master  of  the  house,  who,  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety  and 
felicity,  had  managed  to  secure  a  good  night's  sleep  and  a 
good  breakfast,  had  the  pleasure  of  sending  oif  a  special 
messenger  to  the  Times  office  with  the  notification, "  The 
Lady  of  Peter  Ascott,  Esq.,  of  a  son  and  heir." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  FORTNIGHT'S  time  rather  increased  than  diminished 
the  excitement  incident  on  the  event  at  Russell  Square. 

Never  was  there  such  a  wonderful  baby,  and  never  was 
there  such  a  fuss  made  over  it.  Unprejudiced  persons 
might  have  called  it  an  ugly,  weakly  little  thing;  indeed, 
at  first  there  were  such  apprehensions  of  its  dying  that  it 
had  been  baptized  in  a  great  hurry,  "Henry  Leaf  Ascott," 
according  to  the  mother's  desire,  which  in  her  critical  posi- 
tion nobody  dared  to  thwart.  Even  at  the  end  of  fourteen 
days  the  "  son  and  heir"  was  still  a  puling,  sickly,  yellow- 
faced  baby.  But  to  the  mother  it  was  every  thing. 


2 GO  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

From  the  moment  she  heard  its  first  cry  Mrs.  Ascott's 
whole  nature  seemed  to  undergo  a  change.  Her  very  eyes 
— those  cold  blue  eyes  of  Miss  Selina's — took  a  depth  and 
tenderness  whenever  she  turned  to  look  at  the  little  bun- 
dle that  lay  beside  her.  She  never  wearied  of  touching 
the  tiny  hands  and  feet,  and  wondering  at  them,  and  show- 
ing— to  every  one  of  the  household  who  was  favored  with 
a  sight  of  it — "  my  baby,"  as  if  it  had  been  a  miracle  of 
the  universe.  She  was  so  unutterably  happy  and  proud. 

Elizabeth,  too,  seemed  not  a  little  proud  of  the  baby. 
To  her  arms  it  had  first  been  committed ;  she  had  stood  by 
at  its  first  washing  and  dressing,  and  had  scarcely  left  it 
or  her  mistress  since.  Nurse,  a  very  grand  personage,  had 
been  a  little  jealous  of  her  at  first,  but  soon  grew  conde- 
scending, and  made  great  use  of  her  in  the  sick-room,  al- 
leging that  such  an  exceedingly  sensible  young  person,  so 
quiet  and  steady,  was  almost  as  good  as  a  middle-aged 
married  woman.  Indeed,  she  once  asked  Elizabeth  if  she 
was  a  widow,  since  she  looked  as  if  she  had  "  seen  trouble ;" 
and  was  very  much  surprised  to  learn  she  was  single,  and 
only  twenty-three  years  old. 

Nobody  else  took  any  notice  of  her.  Even  Miss  Hilary 
was  so  engrossed  by  her  excitement  and  delight  over  the 
baby  that  she  only  observed, "  Elizabeth,  you  look  rather 
worn-out ;  this  has  been  a  trying  time  for  you."  And 
Elizabeth  had  just  answered  "Yes" — no  more. 

During  the  fortnight  she  had  seen  nothing  of  Tom.  He 
had  written  her  a  short  note  or  two,  and  the  cook  told  her 
he  had  been  to  the  kitchen  door  several  times  asking  for 
her,  but,  being  answered  that  she  was  with  her  mistress  up 
stairs,  had  gone  away. 

"  In  the  sulks,  most  like,  though  he  didn't  look  it.  He's 
a  pleasant-spoken  young  man,  and  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  luck 
with  him,"  said  Cookie,  who,  like  all  the  other  servants, 
was  now  exceedingly  civil  to  Elizabeth. 

Her  star  had  risen ;  she  was  considered  in  the  household 
a  most  fortunate  woman.  It  was  shortly  understood  that 
nurse — majestic  nurse,  had  spoken  so  highly  of  her,  that  at 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  261 

the  month's  end  the  baby  was  to  be  given  entirely  into 
her  charge,  with,  of  course,  an  almost  fabulous  amount  of 
wages. 

"  Unless,"  said  Mrs.  Ascott,  when  this  proposition  was 
made,  suddenly  recurring  to  a  fact  which  seemed  hitherto 
to  have  quite  slipped  from  her  mind — "  unless  you  are  still 
willing  to  get  married,  and  think  you  would  be  happier 
married.  In  that  case  I  won't  hinder  you.  But  it  would 
be  such  a  comfort  to  me  to  keep  you  a  little  longer." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  answered  Elizabeth,  softly,  and 
busied  herself  with  walking  baby  up  and  down  the  room, 
hushing  it  on  her  shoulder.  If  in  the  dim  light  tears  fell 
on  its  puny  face,  God  help  her,  poor  Elizabeth  ! 

Mrs.  Ascott  made  such  an  excellent  recovery  that  in  three 
weeks'  time  nobody  was  the  least  anxious  about  her,  and 
Mr.  Ascott  arranged  to  start  on  a  business  journey  to  Ed- 
inburg,  promising,  however,  to  be  back  in  three  days  for 
the  Christmas  dinner,  which  was  to  be  a  grand  celebration. 
Miss  Leaf  and  Miss  Hilary  were  to  appear  thereat  in  their 
wedding-dresses ;  and  Mrs.  Ascott  herself  took  the  most 
vital  interest  in  Johanna's  having  a  new  cap  for  the  occa- 
sion. Nay,  she  insisted  upon  ordering  it  from  her  own 
milliner,  and  having  it  made  of  the  most  beautiful  lace — 
the  "  sweetest"  old  lady's  cap  that  could  possibly  be  in- 
vented. 

Evidently  this  wonderful  baby  had  opened  all  hearts, 
and  drawn  every  natural  tie  closer.  Selina,  lying  on  the 
sofa,  in  her  graceful  white  wrapper,  and  her  neat  close  cap, 
looked  so  young,  so  pretty,  and,  above  all,  so  exceedingly 
gentle  and  motherly,  that  her  sisters'  hearts  were  full  to 
overflowing.  They  acknowledged  that  happiness,  like  mis- 
ery, was  often  brought  about  in  a  fashion  totally  unfore- 
seen and  incredible.  Who  would  have  thought,  for  in- 
stance, on  that  wretched  night  when  Mr.  Ascott  came  to 
Hilary  at  Kensington,  or  on  that  dreary,  heartless  wed- 
ding-day, that  they  should  ever  have  been  sitting  in  Se- 
lina's  room  so  merry  and  comfortable,  admiring  the  baby, 
and  on  the  friendliest  terms  with  baby's  papa  ? 


262  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

"  Papa"  is  a  magical  word,  and  let  married  people  have 
fallen  ever  so  wide  asunder,  the  thought,  "  my  child's  moth- 
er," "  my  baby's  father,"  must  in  some  degree  bridge  the 
gulf  between  them.  When  Peter  Ascott  was  seen  stoop- 
ing, awkwardly  enough,  over  his  son's  cradle,  poking  his 
dumpy  fingers  into  each  tiny  cheek  in  a  half  alarmed,  half 
investigating  manner,  as  if  he  had  wondered  how  it  had 
all  come  about,  but,  on  the  whole,  was  rather  pleased  than 
otherwise,  the  good  angel  of  the  household  might  have 
stood  by  and  smiled,  trusting  that  the  ghastly  skeleton 
therein  might  in  time  crumble  away  into  harmless'  dust, 
under  the  sacred  touch  of  infant  fingers. 

The  husband  and  wife  took  a  kindly,  even  affectionate 
leave  of  one  another.  Mrs.  Ascott  called  him  "  Peter,"  and 
begged  him  to  take  care  of  himself,  and  wrap  up  well  that 
cold  night.  And  when  he  was  gone,  and  her  sisters  also, 
she  lay  on  her  sofa  with  her  eyes  open,  thinking.  What 
sort  of  thoughts  they  were,  whether  repentant  or  hopeful, 
solemn  or  tender,  whether  they  might  have  passed  away 
and  been  forgotten,  or  how  far  they  might  have  influenced 
her  life  to  come,  none  knew,  and  none  ever  did  know. 

When  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  message 
for  Elizabeth,  Mrs.  Ascott  suddenly  overheard  it  and  turned 
round. 

"Who  is  wanting  you  —  Tom  Cliffe?  Isn't  that  the 
young  man  you  are  to  be  married  to?  Go  down  to  him 
at  once.  And  stay,  Elizabeth,  as  it's  such  a  bitter  night, 
take  him  for  half  an  hour  into  the  housekeeper's  room. 
Send  her  up  stairs,  and  tell  her  I  wished  it,  though  I  don't 
allow  '  followers.' " 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Elizabeth  once  more,  and  obey- 
ed. She  must  speak  to  Tom  some  time,  it  might  as  well 
be  done  to-night  as  not.  Without  pausing  to  think,  she 
went  down  with  dull,  heavy  steps  to  the  housekeeper's 
room. 

Tom  stood  there  alone.  He  looked  so  exactly  his  own 
old  self,  he  came  forward  to  meet  her  so  completely  in  his 
old  familiar  way,  that  for  the  instant  she  thought  she  must 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  263 

be  under  some  dreadful  delusion  ;  that  the  moonlight  night 
in  the  square  must  have  been  all  a  dream  ;  Esther,  still  the 
silly  little  Esther,  whom  Tom  had  often  heard  of  and 
laughed  at ;  and  Tom,  her  own  Tom,  who  loved  nobody 
but  her. 

"  Elizabeth,  what  an  age  it  is  since  I've  had  a  sight  of 
you !" 

But,  though  the  manner  was  warm  as  ever, 

"In  his  tone 

A  something  smote  her,  as  if  Duty  tried 
To  mock  the  voice  of  Love,  how  long  since  flown," 

and  quiet  as  she  stood,  Elizabeth  shivered  in  his  arms. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter?  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me ? 
Give  me  another  kiss,  my  girl,  do  !" 

Pie  took  it ;  and  she  crept  away  from  him  and  sat  down. 

"  Tom,  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I'd  better 
say  it  at  once." 

"  To  be  sure.  'Tisn't  any  bad  news  from  home,  is  it  ? 
Or" — looking  uneasily  at  her — "  I  haven't  vexed  you,  have 
I?" 

"  Vexed  me,"  she  repeated,  thinking  what  a  small,  foolish 
word  it  was  to  express  what  had  happened  and  what  she 
had  been  suffering.  "  No,  Tom,  not  vexed  me  exactly. 
But  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Who  was  it  that  you 
stood  talking  with,  under  our  tree  in  the  square,  between 
nine  and  ten  o'clock  this  night  three  weeks  ago?" 

Though  there  was  no  anger  in  the  voice,  it  was  so  serious 
and  deliberate  that  it  made  Tom  start. 

"Three  weeks  ago;  how  can  I  possibly  tell?" 

"Yes,  you  can;  for  it  was  a  fine  moonlight  night,  and 
you  stood  there  a  long  time." 

"  Under  the  tree,  talking  to  somebody  ?"  What  non- 
sense !  Perhaps  it  wasn't  me  at  all." 

"  It  was,  for  I  saw  you." 

"  The  devil  you  did  !"  muttered  Tom. 

"Don't  be  angry,  only  tell  me  the  plain  truth.  The 
young  woman  that  was  with  you  was  our  Esther  here, 
wasn't  she  ?" 


264  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

For  a  moment  Tom  looked  altogether  confounded.  Then 
he  tried  to  recover  himself,  and  said,  crossly, "  Well,  and 
if  it  was,  where's  the  harm  ?  Can't  a  man  be  civil  to  a 
pretty  girl  without  being  called  over  the  coals  in  this 
way  ?"  ^ 

Elizabeth  made  no  answer,  at  least  not  immediately.  At 
last  she  said,  in  a  very  gentle,  subdued  voice, 

"  Tom,  are  you  fond  of  Esther  ?  You  would  not  kiss  her 
if  you  were  not  fond  of  her.  Do  you  like  her  as — as  you 
used  to  like  me  ?" 

And  she  looked  right  up  into  his  eyes.  Hers  had  no  re- 
proach in  them,  only  a  piteous  entreaty,  the  last  clinging 
to  a  hope  which  she  knew  to  be  false. 

"Like  Esther?  Of  course  I  do.  She's  a  nice  sort  of 
girl,  and  we're  very  good  friends." 

"  Tom,  a  man  can't  be  '  friends,'  in  that  sort  of  way,  with 
a  pretty  girl  of  eighteen,  when  he  is  going  to  be  married 
to  somebody  else.  At  least,  in  my  mind,  he  ought  not." 

Tom  laughed  in  a  confused  manner.  "I  say,  you're  jeal- 
ous, and  you'd  better  get  over  it." 

Was  she  jealous  ?  was  it  all  fancy,  folly  ?  Did  Tom  stand 
there,  true  as  steel,  without  a  feeling  in  his  heart  that  she 
did  not  share,  without  a  hope  in  which  she  was  not  united, 
holding  her,  and  preferring  her,  with  that  individuality  and 
unity  of  love  which  true  love  ever  gives  and  exacts,  as  it 
has  a  right  to  exact? 

Not  that  poor  Elizabeth  reasoned  in  this  way,  but  she 
felt  the  thing  by  instinct  without  reasoning. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  outright,  just  as  if  I  was  some- 
body else,  and  had  never  belonged  to  you  at  all,  do  you 
love  Esther  Martin  ?" 

Truthful  people  enforce  truth.  Tom  might  be  fickle,  but 
he  was  not  deceitful;  he  could  not  look  into  Elizabeth's 
eyes  and  tell  her  a  deliberate  lie ;  somehow  he  dared  not. 

"  Well,  then — since  you  will  have  it  out  of  me — I  think 
I  do." 

So  Elizabeth's  "ship  went  down."  It  might  have  been 
a  very  frail  vessel,  that  nobody  in  their  right  senses  would 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  265 

have  trusted  any  treasure  with,  still  she  did;  and  it  was 
all  she  had,  and  it  went  down  to  the  bottom  like  a  stone. 

It  is  astonishing  how  soon  the  sea  closes  over  this  sort 
of  wreck,  and  how  quietly  people  take — when  they  must 
take,  and  there  is  no  more  disbelieving  it — the  truth  which 
they  would  have  given  their  lives  to  prove  was  an  impos- 
sible lie. 

For  some  minutes  Tom  stood  facing  the  fire,  arid  Eliza- 
beth sat  on  her  chair  opposite  without  speaking.  Then 
she  took  off  her  brooch,  the  only  love-token  he  had  given 
her,  and  put  it  into  his  hand. 

"  What's  this  for?"  asked  he,  suddenly. 

"  You  know.  You'd  better  give  it  to  Esther.  It's  Es- 
ther, not  me,  you  must  marry  now." 

And  the  thought  of  Esther,  giddy,  flirting,  useless  Es- 
ther, as  Tom's  wife,  was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear. 
The  sting  of  it  put  even  into  her  crushed  humility  a  certain 
honest  self-assertion. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  blame  you,  Tom,  but  I  think  I'm  as 
good  as  she.  I'm  not  pretty,  I  know,  nor  lively,  nor  young 
— at  least  I'm  old  for  my  age ;  but  I  was  worth  something. 
You  should  not  have  served  me  so." 

Tom  said,  the  usual  excuse,  that  he  "  couldn't  help  it." 
And  suddenly  turning  round,  he  begged  her  to  forgive  him, 
and  not  forsake  him. 

She  forsake  Tom  !     Elizabeth  almost  smiled. 

"  I  do  forgive  you  ;  I'm  not  a  bit  angry  with  you.  If  I 
ever  was  I  have  got  over  it." 

"That's  right.  You're  a  dear  soul.  Do  you  think  I 
don't  like  you,  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  sadly, "  I  dare  say  you  do,  a  little,  in 
spite  of  Esther  Martin.  But  that's  not  my  way  of  liking, 
and  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

"What  couldn't  you  stand?" 

"Your  kissing  me  to-day,  and  another  girl  to-morrow; 
your  telling  me  I  was  every  thing  to  you  one  week,  and 
saying  exactly  the  same  thing  to  another  girl  the  next.  It 
would  be  hard  enough  to  bear  if  we  were  only  friends,  but 

M 


266  MISTEESS   AND    MAID. 

as  sweethearts,  as  husband  and  wife,  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble.    No,  Tom,  I  tell  you  the  truth,  I  could  not  stand  it." 

She  sjDoke  strongly,  unhesitatingly,  and  for  an  instant 
there  flowed  out  of  her  soft  eyes  that  wild,  fierce  spark, 
latent  even  in  these  quiet  humble  natures,  which  is  danger- 
ous to  meddle  with. 

Tom  did  not  attempt  it.  He  felt  all  was  over.  Whether 
he  had  lost  or  gained — whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry,  he 
hardly  knew. 

"I'm  not  going  to  take  this  back,  anyhow,"  he  said," fid- 
dling" with  the  brooch ;  and  then  going  up  to  her,  he  at- 
tempted, with  trembling  hands,  to  refasten  it  in  her  collar. 

The  familiar  action,  his  contrite  look,  were  too  much. 
People  who  have  once  loved  one  another,  though  the  love 
is  dead  (for  love  can  die),  are  not  able  to  bury  it  all  at 
once,  or  if  they  do,  its  pale  ghost  will  still  come  knocking 
at  the  door  of  their  hearts,  "Let  me  in,  let  me  in  !" 

Elizabeth  ought,  I  know,  in  proper  feminine  dignity,  to 
have  bade  Tom  farewell  without  a  glance  or  a  touch.  But 
she  did  not.  When  he  had  fastened  her  brooch  she  looked 
up  in  his  familiar  face  a  sorrowful,  wistful,  lingering  look, 
and  then  clung  about  his  neck : 

"  Oh  Tom,  Tom,  I  was  so  fond  of  you  !" 

And  Tom  mingled  his  tears  with  hers,  and  kissed  her 
many  times,  and  even  felt  his  old  affection  returning,  mak- 
ing him  half  oblivious  of  Esther;  but  mercifully — for  love 
rebuilt  upon  lost  faith  is  like  a  house  founded  upon  sands 
• — the  door  opened,  and  Esther  herself  came  in. 

Laughing,  smirking,  pretty  Esther,  who,  thoughtless  as 
she  was,  had  yet  the  sense  to  draw  back  when  she  saw 
them. 

"  Come  here, Esther !"  Elizabeth  called, imperatively;  and 
she  came. 

"  Esther,  I've  given  up  Tom ;  you  may  take  him  if  he 
wants  you.  Make  him  a  good  wife,  and  I'll  forgive  you. 
If  not— " 

She  could  not  say  another  word.  She  shut  the  door  upon 
them,  and  crept  up  stairs,  conscious  only  of  one  thought— 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  267 

if  she  only  could  get  away  from  them,  and  never  see  either 
of  their  faces  any  more  ! 

And  in  this  Fate  was  kind  to  her,  though  in  that  awful 
way  in  which  Fate — say  rather  Providence — often  works ; 
cutting,  with  one  sharp  blow,  some  knot  that  our  poor,  fee- 
ble, mortal  fingers  have  been  long  laboring  at  in  vain,  or 
making  that  which  seemed  impossible  to  do  the  most  nat- 
ural, easy,  and  only  thing  to  be  done. 

How  strangely  often  in  human  life  "  one  woe  doth  tread 
upon  the  other's  heel !"  How  continually,  while  one  of 
those  small  private  tragedies  that  I  have  spoken  of  is  being 
enacted  within,  the  actors  are  called  upon  to  meet  some 
other  tragedy  from  without,  so  that  external  energy  coun- 
teracts inward  emotion,  and  holy  sympathy  with  another's 
sufferings  stifles  all  personal  pain.  That  truth  about  sor- 
rows coming  u  in  battalions"  may  have  a  divine  meaning 
in  it — may  be  one  of  those  mysterious  laws  which  guide 
the  universe — laws  that  we  can  only  trace  in  fragments, 
and  guess  at  the  rest,  believing,  in  deep  humility,  that  one 
day  we  shall  "  know  even  as  we  are  known." 

Therefore  I  ask  no  pity  for  Elizabeth,  because  ere  she  had 
time  to  collect  herself,  and  realize  in  her  poor  confused 
mind  that  she  had  indeed  said  good-by  to  Tom,  given  him 
up  and  parted  from  him  forever,  she  was  summoned  to  her 
mistress's  room,  there  to  hold  a  colloquy  outside  the  door 
with  the  seriously-perplexed  nurse. 

One  of  those  sudden  changes  had  come  which  sometimes, 
after  all  seems  safe,  strike  terror  into  a  rejoicing  household, 
and  end  by  carrying  away,  remorseless,  the  young  wife  from 
her  scarcely  tasted  bliss,  the  mother  of  many  children  from 
her  close  circle  of  happy  duties  and  yearning  loves. 

Mrs.  Ascott  was  ill.  Either  she  had  taken  cold,  or  been 
too  much  excited,  or,  in  the  over-confidence  of  her  recovery, 
some  slight  neglect  had  occurred — some  trifle  which  no- 
body thinks  of  till  afterward,  and  which  yet  proves  the  fa- 
tal cause,  the  "  little  pin"  that 

"Bores  through  the  castle  wall" 


268  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

of  mortal  hope,  and  King  Death  enters  in  all  his  awful 
state. 

Nobody  knew  it  or  dreaded  it ;  for,  though  Mrs.  Ascott 
was  certainly  ill,  she  was  not  at  first  very  ill ;  and  there 
being  no  telegraphs  in  those  days,  no  one  thought  of  send- 
ing for  either  her  husband  or  her  sisters.  But  that  very 
hour,  when  Elizabeth  went  up  to  her  mistress,  and  saw  the 
flush  on  her  cheek  and  the  restless  expression  of  her  eye, 
King  Death  had  secretly  crept  in  at  the  door  of  the  man- 
sion in  Russell  Square. 

The  patient  was  carefully  removed  back  into  her  bed. 
She  said  little,  except  once,  looking  up  uneasily— 

4il  don't  feel  quite  myself,  Elizabeth." 

And  when  her  servant  soothed  her  in  the  long-familiar 
way,  telling  her  she  would  be  better  in  the  morning,  she 
smiled  contentedly,  and  turned  to  go  to  sleep. 

Nevertheless,  Elizabeth  did  not  go  to  her  bed,  but  sat 
behind  the  curtain,  motionless,  for  an  hour  or  more. 

Toward  the  middle  of  the  night,  when  her  baby  was 
brought  to  her,  and  the  child  instinctively  refused  its  nat- 
ural food,  and  began  screaming  violently,  Mrs.  Ascott's 
troubled  look  returned. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  are  you  doing,  nurse  ?  I 
won't  be  parted  from  my  baby — I  won't,  I  say  !" 

And  when,  to  soothe  her,  the  little  thing  was  again  put 
into  her  arms,  and  again  turned  from  her,  a  frightful  ex- 
pression came  into  the  mother's  face. 

"  Am  I  going  to  be  ill  ?     Is  baby—" 

She  stopped  ;  and  as  nurse  determinately  carried  it 
away,  she  attempted  no  resistance,  only  followed  it  across 
the  room  with  eager  eyes.  It  was  the  last  glimmer  of 
reason  there.  From  that  time  her  mind  began  to  wander, 
and  before  morning  she  was  slightly  delirious. 

Still  nobody  apprehended  danger.  Nobody  really  knew 
any  thing  about  the  matter  except  nurse,  and  she,  with  a 
selfish  fear  of  being  blamed  for  carelessness,  resisted  send- 
ing for  the  doctor  till  his  usual  hour  of  calling.  In  that 
large  house,  as_  in  many  other  large  houses,  every  body's 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  269 

business  was  nobody's  business,  and  a  member  of  the  fam- 
ily, even  the  mistress,  might  easily  be  sick  or  dying  in  some 
room  therein,  while  all  things  else  w^ent  on  just  as  usual, 
and  no  one  was  any  the  wiser. 

About  noon  even  Elizabeth's  ignorance  was  roused  up 
to  the  conviction  that  something  was  very  wrong  with 
Mrs.  Ascott,  and  that  nurse's  skill  could  not  counteract  it. 
On  her  own  responsibility  she  sent,  or  rather  she  went  to 
fetch  the  doctor.  He  came  j  and  his  fiat  threw  the  whole 
household  into  consternation. 

Now  they  knew  that  the  poor  lady  whose  happiness  had 
touched  the  very  stoniest  hearts  in  the  establishment  hov- 
ered upon  the  brink  of  the  grave.  Now  all  the  women- 
servants,  down  to  the  little  kitchen-maid  with  her  dirty 
apron  at  her  eyes,  crept  up  stairs,  one  after  the  other,  to 
the  door  of  what  had  been  such  a  silent,  mysterious  room, 
and  listened,  unhindered,  to  the  ravings  that  issued  thence. 
"  Poor  missis,"  and  the  "  poor  little  baby,"  were  spoken  of 
softly  at  the  kitchen  dinner-table,  and  confidentially  sym- 
pathized over  with  inquiring  tradespeople  at  the  area  gate. 
A  sense  of  awe  and  suspense  stole  over  the  whole  house, 
gathering  thicker  hour  by  hour  of  that  dark  December  day. 

When  her  mistress  was  first  pronounced  "  in  danger," 
Elizabeth,  aware  that  there  was  no  one  to  act  but  herself, 
had  taken  a  brief  opportunity  to  slip  from  the  room  and 
write  two  letters,  one  to  her  master  in  Edinburg,  and  the 
other  to  Miss  Hilary.  The  first  she  gave  to  the  footman 
to  post ;  the  second  she  charged  him  to  send  by  special 
messenger  to  Richmond.  But  he,  being  lazily  inclined,  or 
else  thinking  that,  as  the  order  was  only  given  by  Eliza- 
beth, it  was  of  comparatively  little  moment,  posted  them 
both.  So  vainly  did  the  poor  girl  watch  and  wait ;  neither 
Miss  Leaf  nor  Miss  Hilary  came, 

By  night  Mrs.  Ascott's  delirium  began  to  subside,  but 
her  strength  was  ebbing  fast.  Two  physicians — three — 
stood  by  the  unconscious  woman,  and  pronounced  that  all 
hope  was  gone,  if,  indeed,  the  case  had  not  been  hopeless 
from  the  beginning. 


270  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

"Where  is  her  husband?  Has  she  no  relations — no 
mother  or  sisters?"  asked  the  fashionable  physician,  Sir 

,  touched  by  the  sight  of  this  poor  lady  dying 

alone,  with  only  a  nurse  and  a  servant  about  her.  "  If  she 
has,  they  ought  to  be  sent  for  immediately." 

Elizabeth  ran  down  stairs,  and  rousing  the  old  butler 
from  his  bed,  prevailed  on  him  to  start  immediately  in  the 
carriage  to  bring  back  Miss  Leaf  and  Miss  Hilary.  It  would 
be  midnight  before  he  reached  Richmond;  still  it  must  be 
clone. 

"  I'll  do  it,  my  girl,"  said  he,  kindly ;  "  and  I'll  tell  them 
as  gently  as  I  can.  Never  fear." 

When  Elizabeth  returned  to  her  mistress's  room  the  doc- 
tors were  all  gone,  and  nurse,  standing  at  the  foot  of  Mrs. 
Ascott's  bed,  was  watching  her  with  the  serious  look  which 
even  a  hireling  or  a  stranger  wears  in  the  presence  of  that 
sight  which,  however  familiar,  never  grows  less  awful — a 
fellow-creature  slowly  passing  from  this  life  into  the  life 
unknown. 

Elizabeth  crept  up  to  the  other  side.  The  change,  un- 
describable  yet  unmistakable,  which  comes  over  a  human 
face  when  the  warrant  for  its  dissolution  has  gone  forth, 
struck  her  at  once. 

Never  yet  had  Elizabeth  seen  death.  Her  father's  she 
did  not  remember,  and  among  her  few  friends  and  connec- 
tions none  other  had  occurred.  At  twenty-three  years  of 
age  she  was  still  ignorant  of  that  solemn  experience  which 
every  woman  must  go  through  some  time,  often  many 
times,  during  her  life.  For  it  is  to  women  that  all  look  in 
their  extreme  hour.  Very  few  men,  even  the  tenderest- 
hearted,  are  able  to  watch  by  the  last  struggle  and  close 
the  eyes  of  the  dying. 

For  the  moment,  as  she  glanced  round  the  darkened 
room,  and  then  at  the  still  figure  on  the  bed,  Elizabeth's 
courage  failed.  Strong  love  might  have  overcome  this 
fear — the  natural  recoil  of  youth  and  life  from  coming  into 
contact  with  death  and  mortality;  but  love  was  not  ex- 
actly the  bond  between  her  and  Mrs.  Ascott.  It  was  rather 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  271 

duty,  pity,  the  tenderness  that  would  have  sprung  up  in 
her  heart  toward  any  body  she  had  watched  and  tended 
so  long. 

"  If  she  should  die,  die  in  the  night,  before  Miss  Hilary 
comes !"  thought  the  poor  girl,  and  glanced  once  more  round 
the  shadowy  room,  where  she  was  now  left  quite  alone. 
For  nurse,  thinking  with  true  worldly  wisdom  of  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  "  son  and  heir,"  which  was  decidedly  the 
most  important  question  now,  had  stolen  away,  and  was 
busy  in  the  next  room,  seeing  various  young  women  whom 
the  doctors  had  sent,  one  of  whom  was  to  supply  to  the  in- 
fant the  place  of  the  poor  mother  whom  it  would  never 
know. 

There  was  nobody  left  but  herself  to  watch  this  dying 
mother,  so  Elizabeth  took  her  lot  upon  her,  smothered 
down  her  fears,  and  sat  by  the  bedside  waiting  for  the 
least  expression  of  returning  reason  in  the  sunken  face, 
which  was  very  quiet  now. 

Consciousness  did  return  at  last,  as  the  doctors  had  said 
it  would.  Mrs.  Ascott  opened  her  eyes ;  they  wandered 
from  side  to  side,  and  then  she  said,  feebly, 

"  Elizabeth,  where's  my  baby  ?" 

What  Elizabeth  answered  she  never  could  remember; 
perhaps  nothing,  or  her  agitation  betrayed  her,  for  Mrs. 
Ascott  said  again, 

"Elizabeth,  am  I  going  to — to  leave  my  baby?" 

Some  people  might  have  considered  it  best  to  reply  with 
a  lie — the  frightened,  cowardly  lie  that  is  so  often  told  at 
death-beds  to  the  soul  passing  direct  to  its  God.  But  this 
girl  could  not  and  dared  not. 

Leaning  over  her  mistress,  she  whispered  as  softly  as  she 
could,  choking  down  the  tears  that  might  have  disturbed 
the  peace  which,  mercifully,  seemed  to  have  come  with 
dying, 

"Yes,  you  are  going  very  soon — to  God.  He  will  watch 
over  baby,  and  give  him  back  to  you  again  some  day  quite 
safe." 

"Will  He?" 


272  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

The  tone  was  submissive,  half  inquiring,  like  that  of  a 
child  learning  something  it  had  never  learned  before — as 
Selina  was  now  learning.  Perhaps  even  those  three  short 
weeks  of  motherhood  had  power  so  to  raise  her  whole  na- 
ture that  she  now  gained  the  composure  with  which  even 
the  weakest  soul  can  sometimes  meet  death,  and  had  grown 
not  unworthy  of  the  dignity  of  a  Christian's  dying. 

Suddenly  she  shivered.  "  I  am  afraid  ;  I  never  thought 
of— this.  Will  nobody  come  and  speak  to  me  ?" 

Oh,  how  Elizabeth  longed  for  Miss  Hilary,  for  any  body, 
who  would  have  known  what  to  say  to  the  dying  woman ; 
who  perhaps,  as  her  look  and  words  implied,  till  this  hour 
had  never  thought  of  dying.  Once  it  crossed  the  servant's 
mind  to  send  for  some  clergyman  ;  but  she  knew  none,  and 
was  aware  that  Mrs.  Ascott  did  not  either.  She  had  no 
superstitious  feeling  that  any  clergyman  would  do,  just  to 
give  a  sort  of  spiritual  extreme  unction  to  the  departing 
soul.  Her  own  religious  faith  was  of  such  an  intensely 
personal,  silent  kind,  that  she  did  not  believe  in  any  good 
to  be  derived  from  a  strange  gentleman  coming  and  pray- 
ing by  the  bedside  of  a  stranger,  repeating  set  sayings 
with  a  set  countenance,  and  going  away  again.  And  yet 
with  that  instinct  which  comes  to  almost  every  human  soul, 
fast  departing,  Mrs.  Ascott's  white  lips  whispered,  "Pray." 

Elizabeth  had  no  words  except  those  which  Miss  Leaf 
used  to  say  night  after  night  in  the  little  parlor  at  Stow- 
bury.  She  knelt  down,  and  in  a  trembling  voice  repeated 
in  her  mistress's  ear,  " 'Our  father  which  art  in  heaven"  to 
the  end. 

After  it  Mrs.  Ascott  lay  very  quiet.  At  length  she  said, 
"  Please — bring — my — baby."  It  had  been  from  the  first, 
and  was  to  the  last,  "  my"  baby. 

The  small  face  was  laid  close  to  hers,  that  she  might  kiss 
it. 

"  He  looks  well ;  he  does  not  miss  me  much  yet,  poor 
little  fellow  !"  And  the  strong  natural  agony  came  upon 
her,  conquering  even  the  weakness  of  her  last  hour.  "  Oh, 
it's  hard,  hard !  Will  nobody  teach  my  baby  to  remember 
me?" 


MISTEESS    AND   MAID.  273 

And  then  lifting  herself  up  on  her  elbow  she  caught  hold 
Df  nurse. 

"Tell  Mr.  Ascott  that  Elizabeth  is  to  take  care  of  baby. 
Promise,  Elizabeth.  Johanna  is  old — Hilary  may  be  mar- 
ried— you  will  take  care  of  my  baby  ?" 

"  I  will — as  long  as  I  live,"  said  Elizabeth  Hand. 

She  took  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  for  almost  another 
hour  stood  beside  the  bed  thus,  until  nurse  whispered, 
"  Carry  it  away ;  its  mother  doesn't  know  it  now." 

But  she  did ;  for  she  feebly  moved  her  fingers  as  if  in 
search  of  something.  Baby  was  still  asleep,  but  Elizabeth 
contrived,  by  kneeling  down  close  to  the  bed,  to  put  the 
tiny  hand  und^r  those  cold  fingers ;  they  closed  immedi- 
ately upon  it,  and  remained  so  till  the  last. 

When  Miss  Leaf  and  Miss  Hilary  came  in  Elizabeth  was 
still  kneeling  there,  trying  softly  to  take  the  little  hand 
away;  for  the  baby  had  wakened  and  began  its  piteous 
wail.  But  it  did  not  disturb  the  mother  now. 

"  Poor  Selina"  was  no  more.  Nothing  of  her  was  left  to 
her  child  except  the  name  of  a  mother.  It  may  have  been 
better  so. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"IN   MEMORY   OF 

SELINA, 

THE   BELOVED   WIFE   OF   PETER   ASCOTT,  ESQ., 
OF    RUSSELL   SQUARE,  LONDON, 

AND    DAUGHTER   OF 
THE   LATE    HENRY   LEAF,  ESQ., 

OF   THIS   TOWN. 

DIED   DECEMBER   24,   1839, 

AGED   41    YEARS." 

SUCH  was  the  inscription  which  now,  for  six  months,  had 
met  the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants  of  Stowbury,  on  a  large, 
dazzlingly- white  marble  monument,  the  first  that  was 
placed  in  the  church-yard  of  the  New  Church. 

What  motive  induced  Mr.  Ascott  to  inter  his  wife  here 
M2 


274  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

— whether  it  was  a  natural  wish  to  lay  her,  and  some  day 
lie  beside  her,  in  their  native  earth;  or  the  less  creditable 
desire  of  showing  how  rich  he  had  become,  and  of  joining 
his  once  humble  name,  even  on  a  tomb-stone,  with  one  of 
the  oldest  names  in  the  annals  of  Stowbury — nobody  could 
find  out.  Probably  nobody  cared. 

The  Misses  Leaf  were  content  that  he  should  do  as  he 
pleased  in  the  matter :  he  had  shown  strong  but  not  exag- 
gerated grief  at  his  loss ;  if  any  remorse  mingled  therewith, 
Selina's  sisters  happily  did  not  know  it.  Nobody  ever  did 
know  the  full  history  of  things  except  Elizabeth,  and  she 
kept  it  to  herself.  So  the  family  skeleton  was  buried  quiet- 
ly in  Mrs.  Ascott's  grave. 

Peter  Ascott  showed,  in  his  coarse  fashion,  much  sym- 
pathy and  consideration  for  his  wife's  sisters.  He  had 
them  staying  in  the  house  till  a  week  after  the  funeral  was 
over,  and  provided  them  with  the  deepest  and  handsomest 
mourning.  He  even,  in  a  formal  way,  took  counsel  with 
them  as  to  the  carrying  out  of  Mrs.  Ascott's  wishes,  and 
the  retaining  of  Elizabeth  in  charge  of  the  son  and  heir, 
which  was  accordingly  settled.  And  then  they  went  back 
to  their  old  life  at  Richmond,  and  the  widower  returned 
to  his  solitary  bachelor  ways.  He  looked  as  usual ;  went 
to  and  from  the  City  as  usual ;  and  his  brief  married  life 
seemed  to  have  passed  away  from  him  like  a  dream. 

Not  altogether  a  dream.  Gradually  he  began  to  wake 
up  to  the  consciousness  of  an  occasional  child's  cry  in  the 
house — that  large,  silent,  dreary  house,  where  he  was  once 
more  the  sole,  solitary  master.  Sometimes,  when  he  came 
in  from  church  on  Sundays,  he  would  mount  another  flight 
of  stairs,  walk  into  the  nursery  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and 
stare  with  distant  curiosity  at  the  little  creature  in  Eliza- 
beth's arms,  pronounce  it  a  "  fine  child,  and  did  her  great 
credit !"  and  walk  down  again.  He  never  seemed  to  con- 
sider it  as  his  child,  this  poor  old  bachelor  of  so  many  years' 
standing ;  he  had  outgrown  apparently  all  sense  of  the 
affections  or  the  duties  of  a  father.  Whether  they  ever 
would  come  into  him ;  whether,  after  babyhood  was  passed, 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  275 

he  would  begin  to  take  an  interest  in  the  little  creature  who 
throve  and  blossomed  into  beauty — which,  as  if  watched  by 
guardian  angels,  dead  mothers'  children  seem  often  to  do — 
was  a  source  of  earnest  speculation  to  Elizabeth. 

In  the  mean  time  he  treated  both  her  and  the  baby  with 
extreme  consideration,  allowed  her  to  do  just  as  she  liked, 
and  gave  her  indefinite  sums  of  money  to  expend  upon  the 
nursery. 

When  summer  came,  and  the  doctor  ordered  change  of 
air,  Mr.  Ascott  consented  to  her  suggestion  of  taking  a 
lodging  for  herself  and  baby  near  baby's  aunts  at  Kich- 
mond ;  only  desiring  that  the  lodging  should  be  as  hand- 
some as  could  be  secured,  and  that  every  other  Sunday  she 
should  bring  up  his  son  to  spend  the  day  at  Russell  Square. 

And  so,  during  the  long  summer  months,  the  motherless 
child,  in  its  deep  mourning— which  looks  so  pathetic  on  a 
very  young  baby — might  be  seen  carried  about  in  Eliza- 
beth's arms  every  where.  When,  after  the  first  six  wreeks, 
the  wet-nurse  left — in  fact,  two  or  three  wet-nurses  succes- 
sively were  abolished — she  took  little  Henry  solely  under 
her  own  charge.  She  had  comparatively  small  experience, 
but  she  had  common  sense,  and  the  strong  motherly  in- 
stinct which  comes  by  nature  to  some  women.  Besides, 
her  whole  soul  was  wrapped  up  in  this  Tittle  child. 

From  the  hour  when,  even  with  her  mistress  dying  be- 
fore her  eyes,  Elizabeth  had  felt  a  strange  thrill  of  comfort 
in  the  new  duty  which  had  come  into  her  blank  life,  she 
took  to  this  duty  as  Avomen  only  can  whose  life  has  become 
a  blank.  She  received  the  child  as  a  blessing  sent  direct 
from  God;  by  unconscious  hands — for  Mrs.  Ascott  knew 
nothing  of  what  happened  ;  something  that  would  heal  her 
wounded  heart,  and  make  her  forget  Tom. 

And  so  it  did.  Women  arid  mothers  well  know  how  en- 
grossing is  the  care  of  an  infant;  how  each  minute  of  the 
day  is  filled  up  with  something  to  be  done  or  thought  of; 
so  that  "fretting"  about  extraneous  things  becomes  quite 
impossible.  How  gradually  the  fresh  life  growing  up  and 
expanding  puts  the  worn-out  or  blighted  life  into  the  back- 


27G  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

ground,  and  all  the  hopes  and  fancies  cling  around  the 
small,  beautiful  present,  the  ever-developing,  ever-marvel- 
ous mystery  of  a  young  child's  existence  !  Why  it  should 
be  so  we  can  only  guess;  but  that  it  is  so,  many  a  wretched 
wife,  many  a  widowed  mother,  many  a  broken-hearted,  for- 
lorn aunt,  has  thankfully  proved. 

Elizabeth  proved  it  likewise.  She  did  not  exactly  lose 
all  memory  of  her  trouble,  but  it  seemed  lighter ;  it  was 
swallowed  up  in  this  second  passion  of  adopted  mother- 
hood. And  so  she  sank,  quietly  and  at  once,  into  the  con- 
dition of  a  middle-aged  woman,  whose  life's  story — and  her 
sort  of  women  have  but  one — was  a  mere  episode,  told  and 
ended. 

For  Esther  had  left  and  been  married  to  Tom  Cliffe  with- 
in a  few  weeks  of  Mrs.  Ascott's  funeral.  Of  course,  the 
household  knew  every  thing;  but  nobody  condoled  with 
Elizabeth.  There  was  a  certain  stand-off-ishness  about  her 
which  made  them  hold  their  tongues.  They  treated  her 
with  much  respect,  as  her  new  position  demanded.  She 
took  this,  as  she  took  every  thing,  with  the  grave  quietness 
which  was  her  fashion  from  her  youth  up ;  assumed  her 
place  as  a  confidential  upper  servant ;  dressed  well,  but 
soberly,  like  a  woman  of  forty,  and  was  called  "Mrs.  Hand." 

The  only  trace  h'er  "  disappointment"  left  upon  her  was 
a  slightly  bitter  way  of  speaking  about  men  in  general, 
and  a  dislike  to  any  chatter  about  love-affairs  and  matri- 
mony. Her  own  story  she  was  never  known  to  refer  to  in 
the  most  distant  way  except  once. 

Miss  Hilary — who,  of  course,  had  heard  all,  but  delicate- 
ly kept  silence — one  night,  when  little  Henry  was  not  well, 
remained  in  the  lodgings  on  Richmond  Hill,  and  slept  in 
the  nursery,  Elizabeth  making  up  for  herself  a  bed  on  the 
floor  close  beside  baby  and  cradle.  In  the  dead  of  night 
the  two  women,  mistress  and  maid,  by  some  chance,  said  a 
few  things  to  one  another  which  never  might  have  been 
said  in  the  daylight,  and  which,  by  tacit  consent,  were 
never  afterward  referred  to  by  either,  any  more  than  if 
they  had  been  spoken  in  a  dream. 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  277 

Elizabeth  told  briefly,  though  not  without  emotion,  all 
that  had  happened  between  herself  and  Tom,  and  how  he 
was  married  to  Esther  Martin.  And  then  both  women 
went  back,  in  a  moralizing  way,  to  the  days  when  they 
had  both  been  "young"  at  Stow  bury,  and  how  different 
life  was  from  what  they  then  thought  and  looked  forward 
to — Miss  Hilary  and  her  "  bovver-maiden." 

"Yes," answered  the  former, with  a  sigh, "things  are, in- 
deed, not  as  people  fancy  when  they  are  girls.  We  dream, 
and  dream,  and  think  we  see  very  far  into  the  future, 
which  nobody  sees  but  God.  I  often  wonder  how  my  life 
will  end." 

Elizabeth  said,  after  a  pause, "  I  always  felt  sure  you 
would  be  married,  Miss  Hilary.  There  was  one  person — 
is  he  alive  still  ?  Is  he  ever  coming  home  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  I  am  sure  he  was  very  fond  of  you.  And  he  looked 
like  a  good  man." 

"  He  was  the  best  man  I  ever  knew." 

This  was  all  Miss  Hilary  said,  and  she  said  it  softly  and 
mournfully.  She  might  never  have  said  it  at  all ;  but  it 
dropped  from  her  unawares  in  the  deep  feeling  of  the  mo- 
ment, when  her  heart  was  tender  over  Elizabeth's  own  sad, 
simply-told  story.  Also  because  of  a  sudden  and  great 
darkness  which  had  come  over  her  own.  , 

Literally,  she  did  not  now  know  whether  Robert  Lyon 
were  alive  or  dead.  Two  months  ago  his  letters  had  sud- 
denly ceased,  without  any  explanation,  his  last  being  ex- 
actly the  same  as  the  others — as  frank,  as  warmly  affec- 
tionate, as  cheerful  and  brave. 

One  solution  to  this  was  his  possible  coming  home. 
But  she  did  not,  after  careful  reasoning  on  the  subject,  be- 
lieve that  likely.  She  knew  exactly  his  business  relations 
with  his  employers ;  that  there  was  a  fixed  time  for  his  re- 
turn to  England,  which  nothing  except  the  very  strongest 
necessity  could  alter.  Even  in  the  chance  of  his  health 
breaking,  so  as  to  incapacitate  him  for  work,  he  should,  he 
always  said,  have  to  go  to  the  hills  rather  than  take  the 


278  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

voyage  home  prematurely.  And,  in  that  case,  he  certain- 
ly would  have  informed  his  friends  of  his  movements. 
There  was  nothing  erratic,  or  careless,  or  eccentric  about 
Robert  Lyon  •  he  was  a  practical,  business-like  Scotchman 
— far  too  cautious  and  too  regular  in  all  his  habits  to  be 
guilty  of  those  accidental  negligences  by  which  wanderers 
abroad  sometimes  cause  such  cruel  anxieties  to  friends  at 
home. 

For  the  same  reason,  the  other  terrible  possibility — his 
death  —  was  not  likely  to  have  happened  without  their 
hearing  of  it.  Hilary  felt  sure,  with  the  strong  confidence 
of  love,  that  he  would  have  taken  every  means  to  leave 
her  some  last  word — some  farewell  token — which  would 
reach  her  after  he  was  gone,  and  comfort  her  with  the  as- 
surance of  what,  living,  he  had  never  plainly  told.  Some- 
times, when  a  wild  terror  of  his  death  seized  her,  this  set- 
tled conviction  drove  it  back  again.  He  must  be  living, 
or  she  would  have  heard. 

There  was  another  interpretation  of  the  silence,  which 
many  would  have  considered  the  most  probable  of  all — he 
might  be  married.  Not  deliberately,but  suddenly;  drawn 
into  it  by  some  of  those  impelling  trains  of  circumstance 
which  are  the  cause  of  so  many  marriages,  especially  with 
men ;  or  impelled  by  one  of  those  violent  passions  which 
occasionally  seize  on  an  exceedingly  good  man,  fascinating 
him  against  his  conscience,  reason,  and  will,  until  he  wakes 
up  to  find  himself  fettered  and  ruined  for  life.  Such  things 
do  happen,  strangely,  pitifully  often.  The  like  might  have 
happened  to  Robert  Lyon. 

Hilary  did  not  actually  believe  it,  but  still  her  common 
Fense  told  her  that  it  was  possible.  She  was  not  an  inex- 
perienced girl  now  ;  she  looked  on  the  world  with  the  eyes 
of  a  woman  of  thirty;  and  though,  thank  Heaven  !  the  ro- 
mance had  never  gone  out  of  her — the  faith,  and  trust,  and 
tender  love — still  it  had  sobered  down  a  little.  She  knew 
it  was  quite  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  a  young 
man,  separated  from  her  for  seven  years,  thrown  into  all 
kinds  of  circumstances  and  among  all  sorts  of  people, 


MISTEESS    AND   MAID.  279 

should  have  changed  very  much  in  himself,  and,  conse- 
quently, toward  her;  that,  without  absolute  faithlessness, 
he  might  suddenly  have  seen  some  other  woman  he  liked 
better,  and  have  married  at  once.  Or  if  he  came  back  un- 
married—  she  had  taught  herself  to  look  this  probability 
also  steadily  in  the  face — he  might  find  the  reality  of  her, 
Hilary  Leaf,  different  from  his  remembrance  of  her;  and 
so,  without  actual  falseness  to  the  old  true  love,  might  not 
love  her  any  more. 

These  fears  made  her  resolutely  oppose  Johanna's  wish 
to  write  to  the  house  of  business  at  Liverpool,  and  ask 
what  had  become  of  Mr.  Lyon.  It  seemed  like  seeking  aft- 
er him,  trying  to  hold  him  by  the  slender  chain  which  he 
had  never  attempted  to  make  any  stronger,  and  which,  al- 
ready, he  might  have  broken,  or  desired  to  break. 

She  could  not  do  it.  Something  forbade  her ;  that  some- 
thing in  the  inmost  depths  of  a  woman's  nature  which 
makes  her  feel  her  own  value,  and  exact  that  she  shall  be 
sought;  that,  if  her  love  be  worth  having,  it  is  worth  seek- 
ing ;  that,  however  dear  a  man  may  be  to  her,  she  refuses 
to  drop  into  his  mouth  like  an  overripe  peach  from  a  gar- 
den wall.  In  her  sharpest  agony  of  anxiety  concerning 
him,  Hilary  felt  that  she  could  not,  on  her  part,  take  any 
step  that  seemed  to  compel  love,  or  even  friendship,  from 
Robert  Lyon.  It  was  not  pride  —  she  could  hardly  be 
called  a  proud  woman — it  was  an  innate  sense  of  the  dig- 
nity of  that  love  which,  as  a  free  gift,  is  precious  as  "much 
fine  gold,"  yet  becomes  the  merest  dross — utterly  and  in- 
sultingly poor — when  paid  as  a  debt  of  honor,  or  offered  as 
a  benevolent  largess. 

And  so,  though  oftentimes  her  heart  felt  breaking,  Hila- 
ry labored  on — sat  the  long  day  patiently  at  her  desk,  in- 
terested herself  in  the  young  people  over  whom  she  ruled, 
became  Miss  Balquidder's  right  hand  in  all  sorts  of  schemes 
which  that  good  woman  was  forever  carrying  out  for  the 
benefit  of  her  fellow-creatures,  and,  at  leisure  times,  occu- 
pied herself  with  Johanna,  or  with  Elizabeth  and  the.  baby, 
trying  to  think  it  was  a  very  beautiful  and  happy  world, 


280  MISTKESS    AND   MAID. 

with  love  still  in  it,  and  a  God  of  love  ruling  over  it- 
only,  only — 

Women  are  very  humble  in  their  crudest  pride.  Many 
a  day  she  felt  as  if  she  could  have  crawled  a  hundred 
miles  in  the  dust,  like  some  Catholic  pilgrim,  just  to  get 
one  sight  of  Robert  Lyon. 

Autumn  came — lovely,  and  lingering  late.  It  was  No- 
vember, and  yet  the  air  felt  mild  as  May,  and  the  sunshine 
had  that  peculiar  genial  brightness  which  autumnal  sun- 
shine alone  possesses  ;  even  as,  perhaps,  late  happiness  has 
in  it  a  holy  calm  and  sweetness  which  no  youthful  ecstasy 
can  ever  boast. 

The  day  happened  to  be  Hilary's  birthday.  She  had 
taken  a  holiday,  which  she,  Johanna,  Elizabeth,  and  the 
baby  had  spent  in  Richmond  Park,  watching  the  rabbits 
darting  about  under  the  brown  fern,  and  the  deer  grazing 
contentedly  hard  by.  They  had  sat  a  long  time  under  one 
of  the  oak-trees  with  which  the  park  abounds,  listening 
for  the  sudden  drop,  drop  of  an  occasional  acorn  among 
the  fallen  leaves,  or  making  merry  with  the  child,  as  a 
healthy,  innocent,  playful  child  always  can  make  good 
women  merry. 

Still  Master  Henry  was  not  a  remarkable  specimen  of 
infanthood,  and  had  never  occupied  more  than  his  proper 
nepotal  corner  in  Hilary's  heart.  She  left  him  chiefly  to 
Elizabeth,  and  to  his  aunt  Johanna,  in  whom  the  grand- 
motherly character  had  blossomed  out  in  full  perfection. 
And  when  these  two  became  engrossed  in  his  infant  maj- 
esty, Hilary  sat  a  little  apart,  unconsciously  folding  her 
hands  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  vacancy,  becoming  fearfully 
alive  to  the  sharp  truth  that,  of  all  griefs,  a  strong  love  un- 
returned  or  unfulfilled  is  the  grief  which  most  blights  a 
woman's  life — say,  rather,  any  human  life ;  but  it  is  worst 
to  a  woman,  because  she  must  necessarily  endure  passive- 
ly. So  enduring,  it  is  very  difficult  to  recognize  the  good 
hand  of  God  therein.  Why  should  He  ordain  longings, 
neither  selfish  nor  unholy,  which  yet  are  never  granted ; 
tenderness  which  expends  itself  in  vain ;  sacrifices  which 


MISTEESS    AND   MAID.  281 

are  wholly  unneeded ;  and  sufferings  which  seem  quite 
thrown  away?  That  is,  if  we  dared  allege  of  any  thing  in 
the  moral  or  in  the  material  world,  where  so  much  loveli- 
ness, so  much  love,  appear  continually  wasted,  that  it  is 
really  "thrown  away."  We  never  know  through  what 
divine  mysteries  of  compensation  the  Great  Father  of  the 
universe  may  be  carrying  out  His  sublime  plan  ;  and  those 
three  words,  "  God  is  love,"  ought  to  contain,  to  every 
doubting  soul,  the  solution  of  all  things. 

As  Hilary  rose  from  under  the  tree  there  was  a  shadow 
on  her  sweet  face,  a  listless  weariness  in  her  movements, 
which  caught  Johanna's  attention.  Johanna  had  been  very 
good  to  her  child.  When,  do  what  she  would,  Hilary  could 
not  keep  down  fits  of  occasional  dullness  or  impatience,  it 
was  touching  to  see  how  this  woman  of  over  sixty  years 
slipped  from  her  due  pedestal  of  honor  and  dignity,  to  be 
patient  with  her  younger  sister's  unspoken  bitterness  and 
incommunicable  care. 

She  now,  seeing  how  restless  Hilary  was,  rose  when  she 
rose,  put  her  arm  in  hers,  and  accompanied  her,  speaking 
or  silent,  with  quick  steps  or  slow,  as  she  chose,  across  the 
beautiful  park,  than  which,  perhaps,  all  England  can  not 
furnish  a  scene  more  thoroughly  sylvan,  thoroughly  En- 
glish. They  rested  on  that  high  ground  near  the  gate  of 
Pembroke  Lodge,  where  the  valley  of  the  Thames  lies 
spread  out  like  a  map,  stretching  miles  and  miles  away  in 
luxuriant  greenery. 

"How  beautiful !  I  wonder  what  a  foreigner  would  think 
of  this  view?  Or  any  one  who  had  been  long  abroad? 
How  inexpressibly  sweet  and  homelike  it  would  seem  to 
him !" 

Hilary  turned  sharply  away,  and  Johanna  saw  at  once 
what  her  words  had  implied.  She  felt  so  sorry,  so  vexed 
with  herself;  but  it  was  best  to  leave  it  alone.  So  they 
made  their  way  homeward,  speaking  of  something  else; 
and  then  that  happened  which  Johanna  had  been  almost 
daily  expecting  would  happen,  though  she  dared  not  com- 
municate her  hopes  to  Hilary,  lest  they  should  prove  falla- 
cious. 


282  MISTEESS   AND    MAID. 

The  two  figures,  both  in  deep  mourning,  might  have  at- 
tracted any  one's  attention;  they  caught  that  of  a  gentle- 
man who  was  walking  quickly,  and  looking  about  him  as 
if  in  search  of  something.  He  passed  them  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, then  repassed,  then  turned,  holding  out  both  his 
hands. 

"  Miss  Leaf;  I  was  sure  it  was  you." 

Only  the  voice ;  every  thing  else  about  him  was  so 
changed  that  Hilary  herself  would  certainly  have  passed 
him  in  the  street,  that  brown,  foreign-looking,  middle-aged 
man,  nor  recognized  him  as  Robert  Lyon.  But  for  all  that 
it  was  himself;  it  was  Robert  Lyon. 

Nobody  screamed,  nobody  fainted.  People  seldom  do 
that  in  real  life,  even  when  a  friend  turns  up  suddenly 
from  the  other  end  of  the  world.  They  only  hold  out  a 
warm  hand,  and  look  silently  in  one  another's  faces,  and  try 
to  believe  that  all  is  real,  as  these  did. 

Robert  Lyon  shook  hands  with  both  ladies,  one  after  the 
other,  Hilary  last,  then  placed  himself  between  them. 

"  Miss  Leaf,  will  you  take  my  arm  ?" 

The  tone,  the  manner,  were  so  exactly  like  himself,  that 
in  a  moment  all  these  intervening  years  seemed  crushed 
into  an  atom  of  time.  Hilary  felt  certain,  morally  and  ab- 
solutely certain,  that,  in  spite  of  all  outward  change,  he 
was  the  same  Robert  Lyon  who  had  bade  them  all  good- 
by  that  Sunday  night  in  the  parlor  at  Stowbury.  The 
same,  even  in  his  love  for  herself,  though  he  had  simply 
drawn  her  little  hand  under  his  arm,  and  never  spoken  a 
single  word. 

Hilary  Leaf,  down,  secretly,  on  your  heart's  lowest  knees, 
and  thank  God  !  Repent  of  all  your  bitternesses,  doubts, 
and  pains;  be  joyful,  be  joyful !  But,  oh,  remember  to  be 
so  humble  withal. 

She  was.  As  she  walked  silently  along  by  Robert  Lyon's 
side  she  pulled  down  her  veil  to  hide  the  sweetest,  most 
contrite,  most  childlike  tears.  What  did  she  deserve, 
more  than  her  neighbors,  that  she  should  be  so  very,  very 
happy  ?  And  when,  a  good  distance  across  the  park,  she 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  283 

snw  the  dark,  solitary  figure  of  Elizabeth  carrying  baby, 
she  quietly  guided  her  companions  into  a  different  path, 
so  as  to  avoid  meeting,  lest  the  sight  of  her  happiness 
might  in  any  way  hurt  poor  Elizabeth. 

"  I  only  landed  last  night  at  Southampton,"  Mr.  Lyon  ex- 
plained to  Miss  Leaf,  after  the  fashion  people  have,  at  such 
meetings,  of  falling  upon  the  most  practical  and  uninter- 
esting details.  "I  came  by  the  Overland  Mail.  It  was  a 
sudden  journey.  I  had  scarcely  more  than  a  few  hours' 
notice.  The  cause  of  it  was  some  very  unpleasant  defal- 
cations in  our  firm." 

Hilary  might  have  smiled  under  any  other  circumstan- 
ces ;  maybe  she  did  smile,  and  tease  him  many  a  time  aft- 
erward, because  the  first  thing  he  could  find  to  talk  about, 
after  seven  years'  absence,  was  "  defalcations  in  our  firm." 
But  now  she  listened  gravely,  and  by-and-by  took  her  part 
in  the  unimportant  conversation  which  always  occurs  after 
a  meeting  such  as  this. 

"Were  you  going  home,  Miss  Leaf?  They  told  me  at 
your  house  you  were  expected  to  dinner.  May  I  come 
with  you?  for  I  have  only  a  few  hours  to  stay.  To-night 
I  must  go  on  to  Liverpool." 

"  But  we  shall  hope  soon  to  see  you  again  ?" 

"  I  hope  so.  And  I  trust,  Miss  Leaf,  that  I  do  not  intrude 
to-day  ?" 

He  said  this  with  his  Scotch  shyness,  or  pride,  or  what- 
ever it  was;  so  like  his  old  self,  that  it  made  somebody 
smile !  But  somebody  loved  it.  Somebody  lifted  up  to 
his  face  eyes  of  silent  welcome ;  sweet,  soft  brown  eyes, 
where  never,  since  he  knew  them,  had  he  seen  one  cloud 
of  anger  darken,  one  shadow  of  unkindness  rise. 

"  This  is  something  to  come  home  to,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  and  not  over  lucidly.  Ay,  it  was. 

"  I  am  by  no  means  disinterested  in  the  matter  of  dinner, 
Miss  Leaf,  for  I  have  no  doubt  of  finding  good  English 
roast  beef  and  plum-pudding  on  your  sister's  birthday. 
Happy  returns  of  the  day,  Miss  Hilary." 

She  was  so  touched  by  his  remembering  this,  that,  to 


284  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

hide  it,  she  put  on  a  spice  of  her  old  mischievousness,  and 
asked  him  if  he  was  aware  how  old  she  was. 

"  Yes :  you  are  thirty ;  I  have  known  you  for  fifteen 
years." 

"It  is  a  long  time,"  said  Johanna, thoughtfully. 

Johanna  would  not  have  been  human  had  she  not  been 
a  little  thoughtful  and  silent  on  the  way  home,  and  had 
she  not  many  times,  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  sharply 
investigated  Mr.  Robert  Lyoif 

He  was  much  altered  ;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 
Seven  years  of  Indian  life  would  change  any  body — take 
the  youthfulness  out  of  any  body.  It  was  so  with  Robert 
Lyon.  When,  coming  into  the  parlor,  he  removed  his  hat, 
many  a  white  thread  was  visible  in  his  hair,  and,  besides 
the  spare,  dried-up  look  which  is  always  noticeable  in  peo- 
ple who  have  lived  long  in  hot  climates,  there  was  an  "  old" 
expression  in  his  face,  indicating  many  a  worldly  battle 
fought  and  won,  but  not  without  leaving  scars  behind. 

Even  Hilary,  as  she  sat  opposite  to  him  at  table,  could 
not  but  feel  that  he  was  no  longer  a  young  man  either  in 
appearance  or  reality. 

We  ourselves  grow  old,  or  older,  without  knowing  it; 
but  when  we  suddenly  come  upon  the  same  fact  in  another, 
it  startles  us.  Hilary  had  scarcely  recognized  how  far  she 
herself  had  left  her  girlish  days  behind  till  she  saw  Robert 
Lyon. 

"  You  think  me  very  much  changed  ?"  said  he,  guessing 
by  his  curiously  swift  intuition  of  old  what  she  was  think- 
ing of. 

"  Yes,  a  good  deal  changed,"  she  answered,  truthfully, 
at  which  he  was  silent. 

He  could  not  read — perhaps  no  man's  heart  could — all 
the  emotion  that  swelled  in  hers  as  she  looked  at  him,  the 
love  of  her  youth,  no  longer  young.  How  the  ghostly  like- 
ness of  the  former  face  gleamed  out  under  the  hard,  worn 
lines  of  the  face  that  now  was  touching  her  with  ineffable 
tenderness.  Also,  with  solemn  content  came  a  sense  of 
the  entire  indestructibleness  of  that  love  which  through 


MISTRESS    AXD   MAID.  285 

all  decay  or  alteration  traces  the  ideal  image  still,  clings 
to  it,  and  cherishes  it  with  a  tenacity  that  laughs  to  scorn 
the  grim  dread  of  "  growing  old." 

In  his  premature  and  not  specially  comely  middle  age, 
in  his  gray  hairs,  in  the  painful,  anxious,  half-melancholy 
expression  which  occasionally  flitted  across  his  features,  as 
if  life  had  gone  hard  with  him,  Robert  Lyon  was  a  thousand 
times  dearer  to  her  than  when  the  world  was  all  before 
them  both  in  the  early  days  at  Stowbury. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  a  sentimental  nonsense  talked 
about  people  having  been  "  young  together."  Not  neces- 
sarily is  that  a  bond.  Many  a  tie  formed  in  youth  dwindles 
away  and  breaks  off  naturally  in  maturer  years.  Charac- 
ters alter,  circumstances  divide.  No  one  will  dare  to  allege 
that  there  may  not  be  loves  and  friendships  formed  in  mid- 
dle life  as  dear,  as  close,  as  firm  as  any  of  those  of  youth; 
perhaps,  with  some  temperaments,  infinitely  more  so.  But 
when  the  two  go  together,  when  the  cairn  election  of  ma- 
turity confirms  the  early  instinct,  and  the  lives  have  run 
parallel,  as  it  were,  for  many  years,  there  can  be  no  bond 
like  that  of  those  who  say,  as  these  two  did,  "  We  were 
young  together." 

He  said  so  when,  after  dinner,  he  came  and  stood  by  the 
window  where  Hilary  was  sitting  sewing.  Johanna  had 
just  gone  out  of  the  room,  whether  intentionally  or  not 
this  history  can  not  avouch.  Let  us  give  her  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt;  she  was  a  generous  woman. 

During  the  three  hours  that  Mr.  Lyon  had  been  with 
her  Hilary's  first  agitation  had  subsided.  That  exceeding 
sense  of  rest  which  she  had  always  felt  beside  him — the 
sure  index  of  people  who,  besides  loving,  are  meant  to 
guide,  and  help,  and  bless  one  another — returned  as  strong 
as  ever.  That  deep  affection  which  should  underlie  all 
love  revived  and  clung  to  him  with  a  childKkc  confidence, 
strengthening  at  every  word  he  said,  every  familiar  look 
and  way. 

He  was  by  no  means  so  composed  as  she  was,  especially 
now  when,  coming  up  to  her  side  and'watching  her  hands 


286  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

moving  for  a  minute  or  so,  be  asked  her  to  tell  him,  a  little 
more  explicitly,  of  what  had  happened  to  her  since  they 
parted. 

"  Things  are  rather  different  from  what  I  thought ;"  and 
he  glanced  with  a  troubled  air  round  the  neat  but  very 
humbly  furnished  parlor.  "  And  about  the  shop  ?" 

"  Johanna  told  you." 

"Yes;  but  her  letters  have  been  so  few,  so  short — not 
that  I  could  expect  more.  Still — now,  if  you  will  trust  me, 
tell  me  all." 

Hilary  turned  to  him,  her  friend  for  fifteen  years.  He 
was  that  if  he  was  nothing  more.  And  he  had  been  very 
true ;  he  deserved  to  be  trusted.  She  told  him,  in  brief, 
the  history  of  the  last  year  or  two,  and  then  added, 

"But,  after  all,  it  is  hardly  worth  the  telling, because,  you 
see,  we  are  very  comfortable  now.  Poor  Ascott,  we  sup- 
pose, must  be  in  Australia.  I  earn  enough  to  keep  Johan- 
na and  myself,  and  Miss  Balquidder  is  a  good  friend  to  us. 
We  have  repaid  her,  and  owe  nobody  any  thing.  Still  we 
have  suffered  a  great  deal.  Two  years  ago — oh  !  it  was  a 
dreadful  time." 

She  was  hardly  aware  of  it,  but  her  candid  tell-tale  face 
betrayed  more  even  than  her  words.  It  cut  Robert  Lyon 
to  the  heart. 

"  You  suffered,  and  I  never  knew  it." 

"  I  never  meant  you  to  know." 

"  Why  not  ?"  He  walked  the  room  in  great  excitement. 
"I  ought  to  have  been  told;  it  was  cruel  not  to  tell  me. 
Suppose  you  had  sunk  under  it ;  suppose  you  had  died,  or 
been  driven  to  do  what  many  a  woman  does  for  the  sake 
of  mere  bread  and  a  home — what  your  poor  sister  did — 
married.  But  I  beg  your  pardon." 

For  Hilary  had  started  up  with  her  face  all  aglow. 

"  No,"  she  (|jed ;  "  no  poverty  would  have  sunk  me  as 
low  as  that.  I  might  have  starved,  but  I  should  never 
have  married." 

Robert  Lyon  looked  at  her,  evidently  uncomprehending, 
then  said  humbly,  though  rather  formally, 


MISTEESS    AND    MAID.  287 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  once  more.  I  had  no  right  to  allude 
to  any  thing  of  the  kind." 

Hilary  replied  not.  It  seemed  as  if  now,  close  together, 
they  were  farther  apart  than  when  the  Indian  Seas  rolled 
between  them. 

Mr.  Lyon's  brown  cheek  turned  paler  and  paler ;  he  press- 
ed his  lips  hard  together ;  they  moved  once  or  twice,  but 
still  he  did  not  utter  a  word.  At  last,  with  a  sort  of  des- 
perate courage,  and  in  a  tone  that  Hilary  had  never  heard 
from  him  in  her  life  before,  he  said, 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  have  a  right — the  right  that  every  man 
has  when  his  whole  happiness  depends  upon  it,  to  ask  you 
one  question.  You  know  every  thing  concerning  me ;  you 
always  have  known;  I  meant  that  you  should  —  I  have 
taken  the  utmost  care  that  you  should.  There  is  not  a 
bit  of  my  life  that  has  not  been  as  open  to  you  as  if — as 
if —  But  I  know  nothing  whatever  concerning  you." 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know?"  she  faltered. 

"  Seven  years  is  a  long  time.  Are  you  free  ?  I  mean, 
are  you  engaged  to  be  married  ?" 

"No." 

"Thank  God!" 

He  dropped  his  head  down  between  his  hands  and  did 
not  speak  for  a  long  time. 

And  then  with  difficulty — for  it  was  always  hard  to  him 
to  speak  out — he  told  her,  at  least  he  somehow  made  her 
understand,  how  he  had  loved  her.  No  light  fancy  of  sen- 
timental youth,  captivated  by  every  fresh  face  it  sees,  put- 
ting upon  each  one  the  coloring  of  its  own  imagination, 
and  adorning  not  what  is,  but  what  itself  creates :  no  sud- 
den, selfish,  sensuous  passion,  caring  only  to  attain  its  ob- 
ject, irrespective  of  reason,  right,  or  conscience ;  but  the 
strong,  deep  love  of  a  just  man,  deliberately  choosing  one 
woman  as  the  best  woman  out  of  all  the  world,  and  setting 
himself  resolutely  to  win  her.  Battling  for  her  sake  with 
all  hard  fortune ;  keeping,  for  her  sake,  his  heart  pure  from 
all  the  temptations  of  the  world  ;  never  losing  sight  of  her ; 
watching  over  her  so  far  as  he  could,  consistently  with  the 


288  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

sense  of  honor  (or  masculine  pride — which  was  it  ?  but  Hi- 
lary forgave  it,  anyhow)  which  made  him  resolutely  compel 
himself  to  silence ;  holding  her  perfectly  free,  while  he  held 
himself  bound.  Bound  by,  a  faithfulness  perfect  as  that  of 
the  knights  of  old — asking  nothing,  and  yet  giving  all. 

Such  was  his  love — this  brave,  plain-spoken,  single-heart- 
ed Scotsman.  Would  that  there  were  more  such  men  and 
more  such  love  in  the  world  ! 

Few  women  could  have  resisted  it,  certainly  not  Hilary, 
especially  with  a  little  secret  of  her  own  lying  perdu  at  the 
bottom  of  her  heart ;  that  "  sleeping  angel"  whence  half 
her  strength  and  courage  had  come ;  the  noble,  faithful, 
generous  love  of  a  good  woman  for  a  good  man.  But  this 
secret  Robert  Lyon  had  evidently  never  guessed,  or  deemed 
himself  wholly  unworthy  of  such  a  possession. 

He  took  her  hand  at  last,  and  held  it  firmly. 

"And  now  that  you  know  all,  do  yon  think  in  time — I'll 
not  hurry  you — but  in  time,  do  you  think  I  could  make  you 
love  me  ?" 

She  looked  up  in  his  face  with  her  honest  eyes.  Smiling 
as  they  were,  there  was  pathos  in  them;  the  sadness  left 
by  those  long  years  of  hidden  suffering,  now  forever  ended, 

"  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life,"  said  Hilary. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LET  us  linger  a  little  over  this  chapter  of  happy  love,  so 
sweet,  so  rare  a  thing.  Ay,  most  rare;  though  hundreds 
continually  meet,  love,  or  fancy  they  do,  engage  themselves, 
and  marry ;  and  hundreds  more  go  through  the  same  pro- 
ceeding, with  the  slight  difference  of  the  love  omitted — 
Hamlet,  with  the  part  of  Hamlet  left  out.  But  the  real 
love,  steady  and  true ;  tried  in  the  balance,  and  not  found 
wanting;  tested  by  time,  silence,  separation;  by  good  and 
ill  fortune ;  by  the  natural  and  inevitable  change  which 
years  make  in  every  character — this  is  the  rarest  thing  to 
be  found  on  earth,  and  the  most  precious. 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  289 

I  do  not  say  that  all  love  is  worthless  which  is  not  exact- 
ly this  sort  of  love.  There  have  been  people  who  have 
succumbed  instantly  and  permanently  to  some  mysterious 
attraction,  higher  than  all  reasoning ;  the  same  which  made 
Hilary  "  take  an  interest"  in  Robert  Lyon's  face  at  church, 
and  made  him,  he  afterward  confessed,  the  very  first  time 
he  gave  Ascott  a  lesson  in  the  parlor  at  Stowbury,  say  to 
himself,  "If  I  did  marry,  I  think  I  should  like  such  a  wife 
as  that  brown-eyed  bit  lassie."  And  there  have  been  other 
people,  who,  choosing  their  partners  from  accidental  cir- 
cumstances, or  from  mean  worldly  motives,  have  found 
Providence  kinder  to  them  than  they  deserved,  and  settled 
down  into  happy,  affectionate  husbands  and  wives. 

But  none  of  these  loves  can  possibly  have  the  sweetness, 
the  completeness  of  such  a  love  as  that  between  Hilary 
Leaf  and  Robert  Lyon. 

There  was  nothing  very  romantic  about  it.  From  the 
moment  when  Johanna  entered  the  parlor,  found  them 
standing  hand-in-hand  at  the  fireside,  and  Hilary  came  for- 
ward and  kissed  her,  and  after  a  slight  hesitation  Robert 
did  the  same,  the  affair  proceeded  in  most  mill-pond 
fashion : 

"  Unruffled  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks, 
That  humor  interposed  too  often  makes." 

There  were  no  lovers'  quarrels ;  Robert  Lyon  had  chosen 
that  best  blessing  next  to  a  good  woman,  a  sweet-tempered 
\voman;  and  there  was  no  reason  why  they  should  quarrel 
more  as  lovers  than  they  had  done  as  friends.  And,  let  it 
be  said  to  the  eternal  honor  of  both,  now,  no  more  than  in 
their  friendship  days,  was  there  any  of  that  hungry  engross- 
ment of  each  other's  society,  which  is  only  another  form  of 
selfishness,  and  by  which  lovers  so  often  make  their  own 
happy  courting-time  a  season  of  never-to-be-forgotten  bit- 
terness to  every  body  connected  with  them. 

Johanna  suffered  a  little ;  all  people  do  when  the  new 
rights  clash  with  the  old  ones ;  but  she  rarely  betrayed  it. 
She  was  exceedingly  good :  she  saw  her  child  happy,  and 
she  loved  Robert  Lyon  dearly.  He  was  very  mindful  of 

N 


290  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

her,  very  tender ;  and  as  Hilary  still  persisted  in  doing  her 
daily  duty  in  the  shop,  he  spent  more  of  his  time  with  the 
elder  sister  than  he  did  with  the  younger,  and  sometimes 
declared  solemnly  that  if  Hilary  did  not  treat  him  well  he 
intended  to  make  an  offer  to  Johanna ! 

Oh,  the  innumerable  little  jokes  of  those  happy  days ! 
Oh,  the  long,  quiet  walks  by  the  river-side,  through  the 
park,  across  Ham  Common — any  where — it  did  not  matter 
— the  whole  world  looked  lovely,  even  on  the  dullest  win- 
ter day  !  Oh,  the  endless  talks ;  the  renewed  mingling  of 
two  lives,  which,  though  divided,  had  never  been  really 
apart,  for  neither  had  any  thing  to  conceal — neither  had 
ever  loved  any  but  the  other. 

Robert  Lyon  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  good  deal  changed, 
outwardly  and  inwardly.  He  had  mixed  much  in  society, 
taken  an  excellent  position  therein,  and  this  had  given  him 
not  only  a  more  polished  manner,  but  an  air  of  decision  and 
command,  as  of  one  used  to  be  obeyed.  There  could  not 
be  the  slightest  doubt,  as  Johanna  once  laughingly  told 
him,  that  he  would  always  be  "master  in  his  own  house." 

But  he  was  very  gentle  with  his  "little  woman,"  as  he 
called  her.  He  would  sit  for  hours  at  the  "  ingle-neuk" — 
how  he  did  luxuriate  in  the  English  fires ! — with  Hilary  on 
a  footstool  beside  him,  her  arm  resting  on  his  knee,  or  her 
hand  fast  clasped  in  his.  And  sometimes,  when  Johanna 
went  out  of  the  room,  he  would  stoop  and  gather  her  close 
to  his  heart.  But  I  shall  tell  no  tales;  the  world  has  no 
business  with  these  sort  of  things. 

Hilary  was  very  shy  of  parading  her  happiness ;  she 
disliked  any  demonstrations  thereof,  even  before  Johanna. 
And  when  Miss  Balquidder,  who  had,  of  course,  been  told 
of  the  engagement,  came  down  one  day  expressly  to  see 
her  "  fortunate  fellow-countryman,"  this  Machiavelian  little 
woman  actually  persuaded  her  lover  to  have  an  important 
engagement  in  London !  She  could  not  bear  him  to  be 
"looked  at." 

"  Ah  !  well,  you  must  leave  me,  and  I  will  miss  you  terri- 
bly, my  dear,"  said  the  old  Scotchwoman.  "  But  it's  an  ill 


MISTKESS    AND    MAID.  291 

wind  that  blows  nobody  good,  and  I  have  another  young 
lady  quite  ready  to  step  into  your  shoes.  When  shall  you 
be  married  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — hush  !  we'll  talk  another  time,"  said  Hi- 
lary, glancing  at  Johanna, 

Miss  Balquidder  took  the  hint  and  was  silent. 

That  important  question  was  indeed  beginning  to  weigh 
heavily  on  Hilary's  mind.  She  was  fully  aware  of  what 
Mr.  Lyon  wished,  and,  indeed,  expected ;  that  when,  the 
business  of  the  firm  being  settled,  in  six  months  hence  he 
returned  to  India,  he  should  not  return  alone.  When  he 
said  this,  she  had  never  dared  to  answer,  hardly  even  to 
think.  She  let  the  peaceful  present  float  on,  day  by  day, 
without  recognizing  such  a  thing  as  the  future. 

But  this  could  not  be  always.  It  came  to  an  end  one 
January  afternoon,  when  he  had  returned  from  a  second 
absence  in  Liverpool.  They  were  walking  up  Richmond 
Hill.  The  sun  had  set  frostily  and  red  over  the  silver 
curve  of  the  Thames,  and  Venus,  large  and  bright,  was 
shining  like  a  great  eye  in  the  western  sky.  Hilary  long 
remembered  exactly  how  every  thing  looked,  even  to  the 
very  tree  they  stood  under  when  Robert  Lyon  asked  her 
to  fix  definitely  the  day  that  she  would  marry  him. 

"  Would  she  consent — there  seemed  no  special  reason  to 
the  contrary — that  it  should  be  immediately  ?  Or  would 
she  like  to  remain  with  Johanna  as  she  was,  till  just  before 
they  sailed  ?  He  wished  to  be  as  good  as  possible  to  Jo- 
hanna; still — " 

And  something  in  his  manner  impressed  Hilary  more  than 
ever  before  with  the  conviction  of  all  she  was  to  him;  like- 
wise all  he  was  to  her — more,  much  more  than  even  a  few 
short  weeks  since.  Then,  intense  as  it  was,  the  love  had  a 
dream-like  unreality;  now  it  was  close,  homelike,  familiar. 
Instinctively  she  clung  to  his  arm  ;  she  had  become  so  used 
to  being  Robert's  darling  now.  She  shivered  as  she  thought 
of  the  wide  seas  rolling  between  them  ;  of  the  time  when 
she  should  look  for  him  at  the  daily  meal  and  daily  fireside 
and  find  him  no  more. 


292  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"Robert,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Johanna." 

"I  guess  what  it  is,"  said  he,  smiling;  "you  would  like 
her  to  go  out  to  India  with  us.  Certainly,  if  she  chooses. 
I  hope  you  did  not  suppose  I  should  object  ?" 

"  No ;  but  it  is  not  that.  She  would  not  live  six  months 
in  a  hot  climate :  the  doctor  tells  me  so." 

"You  consulted  him?" 

"Yes,  confidentially,  without  her  knowing  it.  But  I 
thought  it  right.  I  wanted  to  make  quite  sure  before — 
before—  Oh,  Robert—" 

The  grief  of  her  tone  caused  him  to  suspect  what  was 
coming.  He  started. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  ?  Oh  no,  you  can  not !  My  lit- 
tle woman — my  own  little  woman — she  could  not  be  so 
unkind." 

Hilary  turned  sick  at  heart.  The  dim  landscape,  the 
bright  sky,  seemed  to  mingle  and  dance  before  her,  and 
Venus  to  stare  at  her  with  a  piercing,  threatening,  baleful 
lustre. 

"Robert,  let  me  sit  down  on  the  bench,  and  sit  you  be- 
side me.  It  is  too  dark  for  people  to  notice  us,  and  we 
shall  not  be  very  cold." 

"  No,  my  darling ;"  and  he  slipped  his  plaid  round  her 
shoulders,  and  his  arm  with  it. 

She  looked  up  pitifully.  "  Don't  be  vexed  with  me,  Rob- 
ert, dear ;  I  have  thought  it  all  over ;  weighed  it  on  every 
side  ;  nights  and  nights  I  have  been  awake  pondering  what 
was  riorht  to  do,  and  it  always  comes  to  the  same  thing." 

"What?" 

"  It's  the  old  story,"  she  answered,  with  a  feeble  smile. 
" c  I  canna  leave  my  minnie.'  There  is  nobody  in  the  world 
to  take  care  of  Johanna  but  me,  not  even  Elizabeth,  who 
is  engrossed  in  little  Henry.  If  I  left  her  I  am  sure  it 
would  kill  her.  And  she  can  not  come  with  me.  Dear !" 
(the  only  fond  name  she  ever  called  him)  "  for  these  three 
years — you  say  it  need  only  be  three  years — you  will  have 
to  go  back  to  India  alone !" 

Robert  Lyon  was  a  very  good  man,  but  he  was  only  a 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  293 

man,  not  an  angel ;  and  though  he  made  comparatively  lit- 
tie  show  of  it,  he  was  a  man  very  deeply  in  love.  With 
that  jealous  tenacity  over  his  treasure,  hardly  blamable, 
since  the  love  is  worth  little  which  does  not  wish  to  have 
its  object  "all  to  itself,"  he  had,  I  am  afraid,  contemplated, 
not  without  pleasure,  the  carrying  off  of  Hilary  to  his  In- 
dian home;  and  it  had  cost  him  something  to  propose  that 
Johanna  should  go  too.  He  was  very  fond  of  Johanna; 
still— 

If  I  tell  what  followed,  will  it  forever  lower  Robert  Lyon 
in  the  estimation  of  all  readers?  He  said,  coldly,  "As  you 
please,  Hilary  ;"  rose  up,  and  never  spoke  another  word  till 
they  reached  home. 

It  was  the  first  dull  tea-table  they  had  ever  known  ;  the 
first  time  Hilary  had  ever  looked  at  that  dear  face,  and  seen 
an  expression  there  which  made  her  look  away  again.  He 
did  not  sulk ;  he  was  too  gentlemanly  for  that ;  he  even  ex- 
erted himself  to  make  the  meal  pass  pleasantly  as  usual ; 
but  he  was  evidently  deeply  wounded  —  nay,  more,  dis- 
pleased. The  strong,  stern  man's  nature  within  him  had 
rebelled;  the  sweetness  had  gone  out  of  his  face,  and  some- 
thing had  come  into  it  which  the  very  best  of  men  have 
sometimes :  alas  for  the  woman  who  can  not  understand 
and  put  up  with  it ! 

I  am  not  going  to  preach  the  doctrine  of  tyrants  and 
slaves ;  but  when  two  walk  together  they  must  be  agreed, 
or  if  by  any  chance  they  are  not  agreed,  one  must  yield. 
It  may  not  always  be  the  weaker,  or  in  weakness  may  lie 
the  chiefest  strength ;  but  it  must  be  one  or  other  of  the 
two  who  has  to  be  the  first  to  give  way;  and,  save  in  very 
exceptional  cases,  it  is,  and  it  ought  to  be,  the  woman. 
God's  law  and  nature's,  which  is  also  God's,  ordains  this ; 
instinct  teaches  it ;  Christianity  enforces  it. 

Will  it  inflict  a  death-blow  upon  any  admiration  she  may 
have  excited,  this  brave  little  Hilary,  who  fought  through 
the  world  by  herself;  who  did  not  shrink  from  traversing 
London  streets  alone  at  seemly  and  unseemly  hours;  from 
going  into  sponging -houses  and  debtors'  prisons;  from 


294  MISTKESS   AND   MAID. 

earning  her  own  livelihood,  even  in  a  shop — if  I  confess 
that  Robert  Lyon,  being  angry  with  her,  justly  or  unjust- 
ly, and  she,  looking  upon  him  as  her  future  husband,  her 
"  lord  and  master"  if  you  will,  whom  she  would  one  day 
promise,  and  intended  literally  to  "  obey" — she  thought  it 
her  duty — not  only  her  pleasure,  but  her  duty — to  be  the 
first  to  make  reconciliation  between  them  ?  ay,  and  at  ev- 
ery sacrifice  except  that  of  principle. 

And  I  am  afraid,  in  spite  of  all  that  "  strong-minded" 
women  may  preach  to  the  contrary,  that  all  good  women 
will  have  to  do  this  to  all  men  who  stand  in  any  close  re- 
lation toward  them,  whether  fathers,  husbands,  brothers,  or 
lovers,  if  they  wish  to  preserve  peace,  and  love,  and  holy 
domestic  influence ;  and  that  so  it  must  be  to  the  end  of 
time. 

Miss  Leaf  might  have  discovered  that  something  was 
amiss,  but  she  was  too  wise  to  take  any  notice,  and  being 
more  than  usually  feeble  that  day,  immediately  after  tea 
she  went  to  lie  down.  When  Hilary  followed  her,  ar- 
ranged her  pillows,  and  covered  her  up,  Johanna  drew  her 
child's  face  close  to  her  arid  whispered, 

"  That  will  do,  love.  Don't  stay  with  me.  I  would  not 
keep  you  from  Robert  on  any  account." 

Hilary  all  but  broke  down  ;  and  yet  the  words  made  her 
stronger,  firmer ;  set  more  clearly  before  her  the  solemn 
duty  which  young  folks  in  love  are  so  apt  to  forget,  that 
there  can  be  no  blessing  on  the  new  tie  if  for  any  thing 
short  of  inevitable  necessity  they  let  go  one  link  of  the 
old. 

Yet  Robert —  It  was  such  a  new  and  dreadful  feeling 
to  be  standing  outside  the  door  and  shrink  from  going  in 
to  him ;  to  see  him  rise  up  formally,  saying,  "  Perhaps  he 
had  better  leave,"  and  have  to  answer  with  equal  formal- 
ity, "  Not  unless  you  are  obliged;"  and  for  him  then,  with 
a  shallow  pretense  of  being  at  ease,  to  take  up  a  book  and 
offer  to  read  aloud  to  her  while  she  worked  —  he  who 
used  always  to  set  his  face  strongly  against  all  sewing 
of  evenings,  because  it  deprived  him  temporarily  of  the 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  295 

sweet  eyes  and  the  little  soft  hand — oh,  it  was  hard — • 
hard ! 

Nevertheless,  she  sat  still  and  tried  to  listen ;  but  the 
words  went  in  at  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other  —  she  re- 
tained nothing.  By-and-by  her  throat  began  to  swell,  and 
she  could  not  see  her  needle  and  thread.  Yet  still  he  went 
on  reading.  It  was  only  when,  by  some  blessed  chance, 
turning  to  reach  a  paper-cutter,  he  caught  sight  of  her,  that 
he  closed  the  book  and  looked  discomposed — not  softened, 
only  discomposed. 

Who  shall  be  first  to  speak?  Who  shall  catch  the  pass- 
ing angel's  wing  V  One  minute,  and  it  may  have  passed 
over. 

I  am  not  apologizing  for  Hilary  the  least  in  the  world. 
I  do  not  know  even  if  she  considered  whether  it  was  her 
place  or  Robert's  to  make  the  first  advance.  Indeed,  I  fear 
she  did  not  consider  it  at  all,  but  just  acted  upon  impulse, 
because  it  was  so  cruel,  so  heart-breaking,  to  be  at  variance 
with  him.  But  if  she  had  considered  it  I  doubt  not  she 
would  have  done  from  duty  exactly  what  she  did  by  in- 
stinct— crept  up  to  him  as  he  sat  at  the  fireside,  and  laid 
her  little  hand  on  his. 

"  Robert,  what  makes  you  so  angry  with  me  still  ?" 

"  Not  angry ;  I  have  no  right  to  be." 

"  Yes,  you  would  have  if  I  had  really  done  wrong. 
Havel?" 

"  You  must  judge  for  yourself.  For  me — I  thought  you 
loved  me  better  than  I  find  you  do,  and  I  made  a  mistake ; 
that  is  all." 

Ay,  he  had  made  a  mistake,  but  it  wras  not  that  one.  It 
was  the  other  mistake  that  men  continually  make  about 
women ;  they  can  not  understand  that  love  is  not  worth 
having,  that  it  is  not  love  at  all,  but  merely  a  selfish  carry- 
ing out  of  selfish  desires,  if  it  blinds  us  to  any  other  duty, 
or  blunts  in  us  any  other  sacred  tenderness.  They  can  not 
see  how  she  who  is  false  in  one  relation  may  be  false  in  an- 
other ;  and  that,  true  as  human  nature's  truth,  ay,  mid  often 
fulfilling  itself,  is  Brabantio's  ominous  warning  to  Oil. olio — 


296  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

*'  Look  to  her,  Moor !  have  a  good  eye  to  see ; 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee." 

Perhaps,  as  soon  as  he  had  said  the  bitter  word,  Mr.  Ly« 
on  was  sorry;  anyhow,  the  soft  answer  which  followed  it 
thrilled  through  every  nerve  of  the  strong-willed  man — a 
man  not  easily  made  angry,  but  when  he  was,  very  hard  to 
move. 

"  Robert,  will  you  listen  to  me  for  two  minutes  ?" 

"  For  as  long  as  you  like,  only  you  must  not  expect  me 
to  agree  with  you.     You  can  not  suppose  I  shall  say  it  is 
right  for  you  to  forsake  me." 
""  I  forsake  you  ?  oh,  Robert !" 

Words  are  not  always  the  wisest  arguments.  His  "  lit- 
tle woman"  crept  closer,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  breast ; 
he  clasped  her  convulsively. 

"  Oh,  Hilary,  how  could  you  wound  me  so  ?" 

And,  in  lieu  of  the  discussion,  a  long  silence  brooded  over 
the  fireside — the  silence  of  exceeding  love. 

"  Now,  Robert,  may  I  talk  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes.     Preach  away,  my  little  conscience  !" 

"  It  shall  not  be  preaching,  and  it  is  not  altogether  for 
conscience,"  said  she,  smiling.  "  You  would  not  like  me 
to  tell  you  I  did  not  love  Johanna  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  love  her  very  much  myself,  only  I  pre- 
fer you,  as  is  natural.  Apparently  you  do  not  prefer  me, 
which  may  be  also  natural." 

"Robert!" 

There  are  times  when  a  laugh  is  better  than  a  reproach  ; 
and  something  else,  which  need  not  be  more  particularly 
explained,  is  safer  than  either.  It  is  possible  Hilary  tried 
the  experiment,  and  then  resumed  her  "  say." 

"  Now,  Robert,  put  yourself  in  my  place,  and  try  to  think 
for  me.  I  have  been  Johanna's  child  for  thirty  years;  she 
is  entirely  dependent  upon  me.  Her  health  is  feeble;  every 
year  of  her  life  is  at  least  doubtful.  If  she  lost  me  I  think 
she  would  never  live  out  the  next  three  years.  You  would 
not  like  that  ?" 

"No." 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  207 

• 

"In  all  divided  duties  like  this,  somebody  must  suffer; 
the  question  is,  which  can  suffer  best.  She  is  old  and  frail, 
we  are  young ;  she  is  alone,  we  are  two ;  she  never  had  any 
happiness  in  her  life  except  perhaps  me ;  and  we — oh,  how 
happy  we  are  !  I  think,  Robert,  it  would  be  better  for  us 
to  suffer  than  poor  Johanna." 

"  You  little  Jesuit,"  he  said ;  but  the  higher  nature  of" 
the  man  was  roused ;  he  was  no  longer  angry. 

"  It  is  only  for  a  short  time,  remember — only  three  years." 

"  And  how  can  I  do  without  you  for  three  years  ?" 

"  Yes,  Robert,  you  can."  And  she  put  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  looked  at  him  eye  to  eye.  "You  know  I 
am  your  very  own,  a  piece  of  yourself,  as  it  were ;  that 
when  I  let  you  go  it  is  like  tearing  myself  from  myself; 
yet  I  can  bear  it  rather  than  do,  or  let  you  do,  in  the  small- 
est degree,  a  thing  which  is  not  right." 

Robert  Lyon  was  not  a  man  of  many  words ;  but  he  had 
the  rare  faculty  of  seeing  a  case  clearly,  without  reference 
to  himself,  and  of  putting  it  clearly  also,  when  necessary. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Hilary,  that  this  is  hardly  a  matter  of 
abstract  right  or  wrong,  or  a  good  deal  might  be  argued 
on  my  side  the  subject.  It  is  more  a  case  of  personal  con- 
science. The  two  are  not  always  identical,  though  they 
look  so  at  first;  but  they  both  come  to  the  same  result." 

"  And  that  is— " 

"  If  my  little  woman  thinks  it  right  to  act  as  she  does, 
I  also  think  it  right  to  let  her.  And  let  this  be  the  law 
of  our  married  life,  if  we  ever  are  married,"  and  he  sighed, 
"  that  when  we  differ  each  should  respect  the  other's  con- 
science, and  do  right,  in  the  truest  sense,  by  allowing  the 
other  to  do  the  same." 

"  Oh,  Robert !  how  good  you  are." 

"  So  these  two,  an  hour  after,  met  Johanna  with  cheerful 
faces,  and  she  never  knew  how  much  both  had  sacrificed  for 
her  sake.  Once  only,  when  she  was  for  a  few  minutes  ab- 
sent from  the  parlor,  did  Robert  Lyon  renew  the  subject, 
to  suggest  a  medium  course. 

But  Hilary  resolutely  refused.  Not  that  she  doubted 
N2 


298  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

him — she  doubted  herself.  She  knew  quite  well, 'by  the 
pang  that  darted  through  her  like  a  shaft  of  ice,  as  she  felt 
his  warm  arm  round  her,  and  thought  of  the  time  when 
she  would  feel  it  no  more,  that,  after  she  had  been  Robert 
Lyon's  happy  wife  for  three  months,  to  let  him  go  to  India 
without  her  would  be  simply  and  utterly  impossible. 

Fast  fled  the  months;  they  dwindled  into  weeks,  and 
then  into  days.  1  shall  not  enlarge  upon  this  time.  Now, 
when  the  ends  of  the  world  are  drawn  together,  and  every 
family  has  one  or  more  relatives  abroad,  a  grief  like  Hi- 
lary's has  become  so  common  that  nearly  every  one  can, 
in  degree,  understand  it.  Plow  bitter  such  partings  are, 
how  much  they  take  out  of  the  brief  span  of  mortal  life, 
and,  therefore,  how  far  they  are  justifiable  for  any  thing 
short  of  absolute  necessity,  Heaven  knows. 

In  this  case  it  was  an  absolute  necessity.  Robert  Ly- 
on's position  in  "our  firm,"  with  which  he  identified  himself 
with  the  natural  pride  of  a  man  who  has  diligently  worked 
his  way  up  to  fortune,  was  such  that  he  could  not,  with- 
out sacrificing  his  future  prospects,  and  likewise  what  he 
felt  to  be  a  point  of  honor,  refuse  to  go  back  to  Bombay 
until  such  time  as  his  senior  partner's  son,  the  young  fel- 
low whom  he  had  "coached"  in  Hindostanee,  and  nursed 
through  a  fever  years  ago,  could  conveniently  take  his  place 
abroad. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  explaining  this  to  Hilary  and  her 
sister, "  accidental  circumstances  might  occur  to  cause  my 
return  home  before  the  three  years  were  out,  but  the  act 
must  be  none  of  mine;  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"  Yes,  you  must,"  answered  Hilary,  with  a  gleam  light- 
ing up  her  eyes.  She  loved  so  in  him  this  one  great  prin- 
ciple of  his  life — the  back-bone  of  it,  as  it  were — duty  be- 
fore all  things. 

Johanna  asked  no  questions.  Once  she  had  inquired, 
with  a  tremulous,  hardly  concealed  alarm,  whether  Robert 
wished  to  take  Hilary  back  with  him,  and  Hilary  had  kissed 
her,  smilingly,  saying,  "  No,  that  was  impossible."  After- 
ward the  subject  was  never  revived. 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  299 

And  so  these  two  lovers,  both  stern  in  what  they  thought 
their  duty,  went  on  silently  together  to  the  last  day  of 
parting. 

It  was  almost  as  quiet  a  day  as  that  never-to-be-forgotten 
Sunday  at  Stowbury.  They  went  a  long  walk  together,  in 
the  course  of  which  Mr.  Lyon  forced  her  to  agree  to  what 
hitherto  she  had  steadfastly  resisted,  that  she  and  Johanna 
should  accept  from  him  enough,  in  addition  to  their  own 
fifty  pounds  a  year,  to  enable  them  to  live  comfortably 
without  her  working  any  more. 

"  Are  you  ashamed  of  my  working  ?"  she  asked,  with 
something  between  a  tear  and  a  smile.  "  Sometimes  I 
used  to  be  afraid  you  would  think  the  less  of  me  because 
circumstances  made  me  an  independent  woman,  earning 
my  own  bread.  Do  you  ?" 

"  My  darling  !  no.  I  am  proud  of  her.  But  she  must 
never  work  any  more.  Johanna  says  right;  it  is  a  man's 
place,  and  not  a  woman's.  I  will  not  allow  it." 

When  he  spoke  in  that  tone  Hilary  always  submitted. 

He  told  her  another  thing  while  arranging  with  her  all 
the  business  part  of  their  concerns,  and  to  reconcile  her  to 
this  partial  dependence  upon  him,  which,  he  urged,  was 
only  forestalling  his  rights — that,  before  he  first  quitted 
England  seven  years  ago,  he  had  made  his  will,  leaving 
her,  if  still  unmarried,  his  sole  heir  and  legatee — indeed, 
in  exactly  the  position  that  she  would  have  been  had  she 
been  his  wife. 

"  This  will  exists  still,  so  that  in  any  case  you  are  safe. 
Xo  farther  poverty  can  ever  befall  my  Hilary." 

His — his  own — Robert  Lyon's  own.  Her  sense  of  this 
was  so  strong  that  it  took  away  the  sharpness  of  the  part- 
ing ;  made  her  feel,  up  to  the  very  last  minute,  when  she 
clung  to  him — was  pressed  close  to  him — heart  to  heart 
and  lip  to  lip — for  a  space  that  seemed  half  a  lifetime  of 
mixed  anguish  and  joy  —  that  he  was  not  really  going; 
that,  somehow  or  other,  next  day  or  next  week  he  would 
be  back  again,  as  in  his  frequent  reappearances,  exactly  as 
before. 


300  MISTKESS    AND    MAID. 

When  he  was  really  gone — when,  as  she  sat  with  her 
tearless  eyes  fixed  on  the  closed  door,  Johanna  softly  touch- 
ed her,  saying, "  My  child  !"  then  Hilary  learned  it  all. 

The  next  twenty-four  hours  will  hardly  bear  being  writ- 
ten about.  Most  people  know  what  it  is  to  miss  the  face 
out  of  the  house — the  life  out  of  the  heart.  To  come  and 
go,  to  eat  and  drink,  to  lie  down  and  rise,  and  find  all 
things  the  same,  and  gradually  to  recognize  that  it  must 
be  the  same,  indefinitely,  perhaps  always.  To  be  met  con- 
tinually by  small  trifles — a  dropped  glove,  a  book,  a  scrap 
of  handwriting  that  yesterday  would  have  been  thrown 
into  the  fire,  but  to-day  is  picked  up  and  kept  as  a  relic ; 
and  at  times,  bursting  through  the  quietness  which  must 
be  gained,  or  at  least  assumed,  the  cruel  craving  for  one 
word  more — one  kiss  more — for  only  one  five  minutes  of 
the  eternally  ended  yesterday  ! 

All  this  hundreds  have  gone  through;  so  did  Hilary. 
She  said  afterward  it  was  good  for  her  that  she  did;  it 
would  make  her  feel  for  others  in  a  way  she  had  never  felt 
before.  Also,  because  it  taught  her  that  such  a  heart- 
break can  be  borne  and  lived  through  when  help  is  sought 
where  only  real  help  can  be  found ;  and  where,  wThen  rea- 
son fails,  and  those  who,  striving  to  do  right  irrespective 
of  the  consequences,  cry  out  against  their  torments,  and 
wonder  why  they  should  be  mad-e  so  to  suffer,  child-like 
faith  comes  to  their  rescue.  For,  let  us  have  all  the  phi- 
losophy at  our  fingers'  ends,  what  are  we  but  children  ? 
We  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth.  All  wisdom 
resolves  itself  into  the  simple  hymn  which  we  learned 
when  we  were  young : 

' '  Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never-failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  His  vast  designs, 
And  works  His  sovereign  will. 

*'  Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 

And  scan  His  work  in  vain  : 
God  is  His  own  interpreter, 
And  He  will  make  it  plain." 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  301 

The  night  after  Robert  Lyon  left,  Hilary  and  Johanna 
were  sitting  together  in  their  parlor.  Hilary  had  been 
writing  a  long  letter  to  Miss  Balquidder,  explaining  that 
she  would  now  give  up,  in  favor  of  the  other  young  lady, 
or  any  other  of  the  many  to  whom  it  would  be  a  blessing, 
her  position  in  the  shop;  but  that  she  hoped  still  to  help 
her — Miss  Balquidder  —  in  any  way  she  could  point  out 
that  would  be  useful  to  others.  She  wished,  in  her  hum- 
ble way,  as  a  sort  of  thank-offering  from  one  who  had 
passed  through  the  waves  and  been  landed  safe  ashore,  to 
help  those  who  were  still  struggling,  as  she  herself  had 
struggled  once.  She  desired,  as  far  as  in  her  lay,  to  be 
Miss  Balquidder's  "  right  hand"  till  Mr.  Lyon  came  home. 

This  letter  she  read  aloud  to  Johanna,  whose  failing  eye- 
sight refused  all  candle-light  occupation,  and  then  came 
and  sat  beside  her  in  silence.  She  felt  terribly  worn  and 
weary,  but  she  was  very  quiet  now. 

"  We  must  go  to  bed  early,"  was  all  she  said. 

"Yes,  my  child." 

And  Johanna  smoothed  her  hair  in  the  old,  fond  way, 
making  no  attempt  to  console  her,  but  only  to  love  her — 
always  the  safest  consolation.  And  Hilary  was  thankful 
that  never,  even  in  her  sharpest  agonies  of  grief,  had  she 
betrayed  that  secret  which  would  have  made  her  sister's 
life  miserable,  have  blotted  out  the  thirty  years  of  mother- 
ly love,  and  caused  the  other  love  to  rise  up  like  a  cloud 
between  her  and  it,  never  to  be  lifted  until  Johanna  sank 
into  the  possibly  not  far-off  grave. 

"  No,  no,"  she  thought  to  herself,  as  she  looked  on  that 
frail  old  face,  which  even  the  secondary  grief  of  this  last 
week  seemed  to  have  made  frailer  and  older.  "  No,  it  is 
better  as  it  is;  I  believe  I  did  right.  The  end  will  show." 

The  end  was  nearer  than  she  thought.  So,  sometimes 
—  not  often,  lest  self-sacrifice  should  become  a  less  holy 
thing  than  it  is — Providence  accepts  the  will  for  the  actj 
and  makes  the  latter  needless. 

There  was  a  sudden  knock  at  the  hall  door. 

Cl>  It  is  the  young  people  coming  in  to  supper." 


302  MISTBESS  AND   MAID. 

"It's  not,"  said  Hilary,  starting  up  :  "  it's  not  their  knock. 
It  is—" 

She  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  she  was  sobbing  in 
Robert  Lyon's  arras. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?"  cried  the  bewildered  Johan- 
na, of  whom,  I  must  confess,  for  once  nobody  took  the  least 
notice. 

It  meant  that,  by  one  of  these  strange  accidents,  as  we 
call  them,  which  in  a  moment  alter  the  whole  current  of 
things,  the  senior  partner  had  suddenly  died,  and  his  son, 
not  being  qualified  to  take  his  place  in  the  Liverpool  house, 
had  to  go  out  to  India  instead  of  Robert  Lyon,  who  would 
now  remain  permanently,  as  the  third  senior  partner,  in 
England. 

This  news  had  met  him  at  Southampton.  He  had  gone 
thence  direct  to  Liverpool,  arranged  affairs  so  far  as  was 
possible,  and  returned,  traveling  without  an  hour's  inter- 
mission, to  tell  his  own  tidings,  as  was  best  —  or  as  he 
thought  it  was. 

Perhaps  at  the  core  of  his  heart  lurked  the  desire  to 
come  suddenly  back,  as,  it  is  said,  if  the  absent  or  the  dead 
could  come,  they  would  find  all  things  changed :  the  place 
filled  up  in  home  and  hearth  —  no  face  of  welcome — no 
heart  leaping  to  heart  in  the  ecstasy  of  reunion. 

"  Well,  if  Robert  Lyon  had  any  misgivings — and  being 
a  man,  and  in  love,  perhaps  he  had — they  were  ended  now. 

"Is  she  glad  to  see  me?"  was  all  he  could  find  to  say 
when,  Johanna  having  considerately  vanished,  he  might 
have  talked  as  much  as  he  pleased. 

Hilary's  only  answer  was  a  little,  low  laugh  of  inexpres- 
sible content. 

He  lifted  up  between  his  hands  the  sweet  face,  neither 
so  young  nor  so  pretty  as  it  had  been,  but  oh  !  so  sweet, 
with  the  sweetness  that  long  outlives  beauty — a  face  that 
a  man  might  look  on  all  his  lifetime  and  never  tire  of — so 
infinitely  loving,  so  infinitely  true  !  And  he  knew  it  was 
his  wife's  face,  to  shine  upon  him  day  by  day,  and  year  by 
year,  till  it  faded  into  old  age — beautiful  and  beloved  even 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  303 

then.  All  the  strong  nature  of  the  man  gave  way ;  he 
wept  almost  like  a  child  in  his  "  little  woman's"  arms. 

Let  us  leave  them  there,  by  that  peaceful  fireside — these 
two,  who  are  to  sit  by  one  fireside  as  long  as  they  live. 
Of  their  further  fortune  we  know  nothing — nor  do  they 
themselves — except  the  one  fact,  in  itself  joy  enough  for 
any  mortal  cup  to  hold,  that  it  will  be  shared  together, 
Two  at  the  hearth,  two  abroad ;  two  to  labor,  two  to  re 
joice ;  or,  if  so  it  must  be,  two  to  weep,  and  two  to  com- 
fort one  another ;  the  man  to  be  the  head  of  the  woman, 
and  the  woman  the  heart  of  the  man.  This  is  the  ordina- 
tion of  God ;  this  is  the  perfect  life ;  none  the  less  perfect 
that  so  many  fall  short  of  it. 

So  let  us  bid  them  good-by :  Robert  Lyon  and  Hilary 
Leaf,  "  Good-by ;  God  be  with  ye  !"  for  we  shall  see  them 
no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

ELIZABETH  stood  at  the  nursery  window,  pointing  out 
to  little  Henry  how  the  lilacs  and  laburnums  were  coming 
into  flower  in  the  square  below,  and  speculating  with  him 
whether  the  tribes  of  sparrows  which  they  had  fed  all  win- 
ter from  the  mignonnette  boxes  on  the  window-sill  would 
be  building  nests  in  the  tall  trees  of  Russell  Square ;  for 
she  wished,  with  her  great  aversion  to  London,  to  make 
her  nursling  as  far  as  possible  a  "  country"  child. 

Master  Henry  Leaf  Ascott  was  by  no  means  little  now. 
He  would  run  about  on  his  tottering  fat  legs,  and  he  could 
say  "Mammy  Lizzie,"  also  "Pa-pa,"  as  had  been  carefully 
taught  him  by  his  conscientious  nurse.  At  which  papa 
had  been  at  first  excessively  surprised,  then  gratified,  and 
had  at  last  taken  kindly  to  the  appellation  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

It  inaugurated  a  new  era  in  Peter  Ascott's  life.  At  first 
twice  a  week,  and  then  every  day,  he  sent  up  for  "  Master 
Ascott"  to  keep  him  company  at  dessert ;  he  then  changed 
his  dinner-hour  from  half  past  six  to  five,  because  Eliza- 


304  MISTEESS    AND    MAID. 

beth,  with  her  stern  sacrifice  of  every  thing  to  the  child's 
good,  had  suggested  to  him,  humbly  but  firmly,  that  late 
hours  kept  little  Henry  too  long  out  of  his  bed.  He  gave 
up  his  bottle  of  port  and  his  after-dinner  sleep,  and  took 
to  making  water-lilies  and  caterpillars  out  of  oranges,  and 
boats  out  of  walnut-shells,  for  his  boy's  special  edification. 
Sometimes  when,  at  half  past  six,  Elizabeth,  punctual  as 
clock-work,  knocked  at  the  dining-room  door,  she  heard 
father  and  son  laughing  together  in  a  most  jovial  manner, 
though  the  decanters  were  in  their  places  and  the  wine- 
glasses untouched. 

And  even  after  the  child  disappeared  the  butler  declared 
that  master  usually  took  quietly  to  his  newspaper,  or  rang 
for  his  tea,  or  perhaps  dozed  harmlessly  in  his  chair  till 
bedtime. 

I  do  not  allege  that  Peter  Ascott  was  miraculously 
changed  ;  people  do  not  change,  especially  at  his  age ;  ex- 
ternally he  was  still  the  same  pompous,  overbearing,  coarse 
man,  with  whom,  no  doubt,  his  son  would  have  a  tolera- 
bly sore  bargain  in  years  to  come.  But  still  the  child 
had  touched  a  soft  corner  in  his  heart,  the  one  soft  corner 
which  in  his  youth  had  yielded  to  the  beauty  of  Miss  Seli- 
na  Leaf,  and  the  old  fellow  was  a  better  old  fellow  than 
he  had  once  been.  Probably,  with  care,  he  might  be  for 
the  rest  of  his  life  at  least  manageable. 

Elizabeth  hoped  so,  for  his  boy's  sake ;  and,  little  as  she 
liked  him,  she  tried  to  conquer  her  antipathy  as  much  as 
she  could.  She  always  took  care  to  treat  him  with  ex- 
treme respect,  and  to  bring  up  little  Henry  to  do  the 
same.  And,  as  often  happens,  Mr.  Ascott  began  gradually 
to  comport  himself  in  a  manner  deserving  of  respect.  He 
ceased  his  oaths  and  his  coarse  language ;  seldom  flew  into 
a  passion ;  and  last,  not  least,  the  butler  avouched  that 
master  hardly  ever  went  to  bed  "muzzy"  no.w.  Toward 
all  his  domestics,  and  especially  to  his  son's  nurse,  he  be- 
haved himself  more  like  a  master  and  less  like  a  tyrant, 
BO  that  the  establishment  at  Russell  Square  went  on  in  a 
way  more  peaceful  than  had  ever  been  known  before. 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  305 

There  was  no  talk  of  his  giving  it  a  new  mistress;  he 
seemed  to  have  had  enough  of  matrimony.  Of  his  late 
wife  he  never  spoke  ;  whether  he  loved  her  or  not,  wheth- 
er he  had  regretted  her  or  not,  the  love  and  regret  were 
now  alike  ended. 

Poor  Selina  !  It  was  Elizabeth  only,  who,  with  a  sacred 
sense  of  duty,  occasionally  talked  to  little  Henry  about 
"  mamma  up  there" — pointing  to  the  blank  bit  of  blue  sky 
over  the  trees  of  Russell  Square,  and  hoped  in  time  to 
make  him  understand  something  about  her,  and  how  she 
had  loved  him,  her  "baby."  This  love — the  only  beauti- 
ful emotion  her  life  had  known,  was  the  one  fragment  that 
remained  of  it  after  her  death,  the  one  remembrance  she 
left  to  her  child. 

Little  Henry  was  not  in  the  least  like  her,  nor  yet  like 
his  father.  He  took  after  some  forgotten  type,  some  past 
generation  of  either  family,  which  reappeared  in  this  as 
something  new.  To  Elizabeth  he  was  a  perfect  revelation 
of  beauty  and  infantile  fascination.  He  filled  up  every 
corner  of  her  heart.  She  grew  fat  and  flourishing,  even 
cheerful ;  so  cheerful  that  she  bore  with  equanimity  the 
parting  with  her  dear  Miss  Hilary,  who  went  away  in  glo- 
ry and  happiness  as  Mrs.  Robert  Lyon,  to  live  in  Liverpool, 
and  Miss  Leaf  with  her.  Thus  both  Elizabeth's  youthful 
dreams  ended  in  nothing,  and  it  was  more  than  probable 
that  for  the  future,  their  lives  and  hers  being  so  widely 
apart,  she  would  see  very  little  of  her  beloved  mistresses 
any  more.  But  they  had  done  their  work  in  her  and  for 
her,  and  it  had  borne  fruit  a  hundred-fold,  and  would  still. 
"  I  know  you  will  take  care  of  this  child — he  is  the  hope 
of  the  family,"  said  Miss  Leaf,  when  she  was  giving  her  last 
kiss  to  little  Henry.  "I  could  not  bear  to  leave  him  if  I 
were  not  leaving  him  with  you." 

And  Elizabeth  had  taken  her  charge  proudly  in  her  arms, 
knowing  she  was  trusted,  and  inwardly  vowing  to  be  wor- 
thy of  that  trust. 

Another  dream  was  likewise  ended — so  completely  that 
she  sometimes  wondered  if  it  was  ever  real ;  whether  she 


306  MISTRESS    AND   MAID. 

had  ever  been  a  happy  girl,  looking  forward  as  girls  do  to 
wifehood  and  motherhood,  or  whether  she  had  not  been  al- 
ways the  staid  middle-aged  person  she  was  now,  whom  no- 
body ever  suspected  of  any  such  things. 

She  had  been  once  back  to  her  old  home,  to  settle  her 
mother  comfortably  upon  a  weekly  allowance,  to  'prentice 
her  little  brother,  to  see  one  sister  married,  and  the  other 
sent  off  to  Liverpool  to  be  servant  to  Mrs.  Lyoii.  While 
at  Stowbury,  she  had  heard  by  chance  of  Tom  Cliffe's  pass- 
ing through  the  town  as  a  Chartist  lecturer,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  with  his  pretty,  showy  London  wife,  who,  when 
he  brought  her  there,  had  looked  down  rather  contemptu- 
ously upon  the  street  where  Tom  was  born. 

This  was  all  Elizabeth  knew  about  them.  They,  too, 
had  passed  from  her  life  as  phases  of  keen  joy  and  keener 
sorrow  do  pass,  like  a  dream  and  the  shadows  of  a  dream. 
It  may  be,  life  itself  will  seem  at  the  end  to  be  nothing 
more. 

But  Elizabeth  Hand's  love-story  was  not  so  to  end. 

One  morning,  the  same  morning  when  she  had  been 
pointing  out  the  lilacs  to  little  Henry,  and  now  came  in 
from  the  square  with  a  branch  of  them  in  her  hand,  the 
postman  gave  her  a  letter,  the  handwriting  of  which  made 
her  start  as  if  it  had  been  a  visitation  from  the  dead. 

"  Mammy  Lizzie,  Mammy  Lizzie  !"  cried  little  Henry, 
plucking  at  her  gown,  but  for  once  his  nurse  did  not  notice 
him.  She  stood  on  the  door-step,,  trembling  violently  ;  at 
length  she  put  the  letter  into  her  pocket,  lifted  the  child, 
and  got  up  stairs  somehow.  When  she  had  settled  her 
charge  to  his  midday  sleep,  then,  and  not  till  then,  did  she 
take  out  and  read  the  few  lines,  which,  though  written  on 
shabby  paper,  and  with  more  than  one  blot,  were  so  like — 
yet  so  terribly  unlike — Tom's  caligraphy  of  old: 

"DEAH  ELIZABETH, — I  have  no  right  to  ask  any  kindness 
of  you ;  but  if  you  would  like  to  see  an  old  friend  alive,  I 
wish  you  would  come  and  see  me.  I  have  been  long  of 
asking  you,  lest  you  might  fancy  I  wanted  to  get  some- 
thing out  of  you ;  for  I'm  as  poor  as  a  rat ;  and  once  lately 


MISTEESS   AND   MAID.  307 

I  saw  you,  looking  so  well  and  well-to-do.  But  it  was  the 
same  kind  old  face,  and  I  should  like  to  get  one  kind  look 
from  it  before  I  go  where  I  shaVt  want  any  kindness  from 
any  body.  However,  do  just  as  you  choose. 

"Yours  affectionately,  T.  CLIFFE. 

"Underneath  is  my  address." 

It  was  in  one  of  those  wretched  nooks  in  Westminster, 
now  swept  away  by  Victoria  Street  and  other  improve- 
ments. Elizabeth  happened  to  have  read  about  it  in  one 
of  the  many  charitable  pamphlets,  reports,  etc.,  which  were 
sent  continually  to  the  wealthy  Mr.  Ascott,  and  which  he 
sent  down  stairs  to  light  fires  with.  What  must  not  poor 
Tom  have  sunk  to  before  he  had  come  to  live  there  ?  His 
letter  was  like  a  cry  out  of  the  depths,  and  the  voice  was 
that  of  her  youth,  her  first  love. 

Is  any  woman  ever  deaf  to  that  ?  The  love  may  have 
died  a  natural  death :  many  first  loves  do :  a  riper,  com- 
pleter,  happier  love  may  have  come  in  its  place ;  but  there 
must  be  something  unnatural  about  the  woman,  and  man 
likewise,  who  can  ever  quite  forget  it — the  dew  of  their 
youth — the  beauty  of  their  dawn. 

"Poor  Tom!  poor  Tom!"  sighed  Elizabeth;  "my  own 
poor  Tom !" 

She  forgot  Esther,  either  from  Tom's  not  mentioning 
her,  or  in  the  strong  return  to  old  times  which  his  letter 
produced ;  forgot  her  for  the  time  being  as  completely  as 
if  she  had  never  existed.  Even  when  the  recollection  came 
it  made  little  difference.  The  sharp  jealousy,  the  dislike 
and  contempt,  had  all  calmed  down  ;  she  thought  she  could 
now  see  Tom's  wife  as  any  other  woman — especially  if,  as 
the  letter  indicated,  they  were  so  very  poor  and  miserable. 

Possibly  Esther  had  suggested  writing  it?  Perhaps, 
though  Tom  did  not,  Esther  did  "  want  to  get  something 
out  of  her" — Elizabeth  Hand,  who  was  known  to  have 
large  wages,  and  to  be  altogether  a  thriving  person? 
Well,  it  mattered  little.  The  one  fact  remained:  Tom  was 
in  distress ;  Tom  needed  her ;  she  must  go. 

Her  only  leisure  time  was  of  an  evening,  after  Henry 


308  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

was  in  bed.  The  intervening  hours,  especially  the  last 
one,  when  the  child  was  down  stairs  with  his  father,  calm- 
ed her ;  subdued  the  tumult  of  old  remembrances  that 
came  surging  up  and  beating  at  the  long-shut  door  of  her 
heart.  When  her  boy  returned,  leaping  and  laughing,  and 
playing  all  sorts  of  tricks  as  she  put  him  to  bed,  she  could 
smile  too.  And  when,  kneeling  beside  her  in  his  pretty 
white  night-gown,  he  stammered  through  the  prayer  she 
had  thought  it  right  to  begin  to  teach  him,  though  of 
course  he  was  too  young  to  understand  it,  the  words 
"Thy  will  be  done;"  "Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we 
forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us  ;"  and,  lastly,  "Lead 
us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  evil,"  struck 
home  to  his  nurse's  inmost  soul. 

"  Mammy — Mammy  Lizzie's  'tying !" 

Yes,  she  was  crying,  but  it  did  her  good.  She  was  able 
to  kiss  her  little  boy,  who  slept  like  a  top  in  five  minutes ; 
then  she  took  off  her  good  silk  gown,  and  dressed  herself 
soberly  and  decently,  but  so  that  people  should  not  sus- 
pect, in  that  low  and  dangerous  neighborhood,  the  sover- 
eigns that  she  carried  in  an  under-pocket,  ready  to  use  as 
occasion  required.  Thus  equipped,  she  started  without  a 
minute's  delay  for  Tom's  lodging. 

It  was  poorer  than  even  she  expected.  One  attic  room, 
bare  almost  as  when  it  was  built.  No  chimney  or  grate, 
no  furniture  except  a  box  which  served  as  both  table  and 
chair ;  and  a  heap  of  straw,  with  a  blanket  thrown  over  it. 
The  only  comfort  about  it  was  that  it  was  clean :  Tom's 
innate  sense  of  refinement  had  abided  with  him  to  the  last. 

Elizabeth  had  time  to  make  all  these  observations,  for 
Tom  was  out — gone,  the  landlady  said,  to  the  druggist's 
shop  round  the  corner. 

"  He's  very  bad,  ma'am,"  added  the  woman,  civilly,  prob- 
ably led  thereto  by  Elizabeth's  respectable  appearance,  and 
the  cab  in  which  she  had  come,  lest  she  should  lose  a  min- 
ute's time.  "  Can't  last  long ;  and  Lord  knows  who's  to 
bury  him." 

With  that  sentence  knelling  in  her  ears  Elizabeth  wait- 


MISTKESS   AND   MAID.  309 

ed  till  she  heard  the  short  cough  and  the  hard  breathing 
of  some  one  toiling  heavily  up  the  stair. 

Tom — Tom  himself.  But  oh !  so  altered ;  with  every 
bit  of  youth  gone  out  of  him ;  with  death  written  on  every 
line  of  his  haggard  face,  the  death  he  had  once  prognosti- 
cated with  a  sentimental  pleasure,  but  which  now  had  come 
upon  him  in  all  its  ghastly  reality. 

He  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption.  The  disease 
was  latent  in  his  family,  Elizabeth  knew :  she  had  known 
it  when  she  had  belonged  to  him,  and  fondly  thought  that, 
as  his  wife,  her  incessant  care  might  save  him  from  it ;  but 
nothing  could  save  him  now. 

"  Who's  that  ?"  said  he,  in  his  own  sharp,  fretful  voice. 

"  Me, Tom.  But  don't  speak.  Sit  down  till  your  cough's 
over." 

Tom  grasped  her  hand  as  she  stood  by  him,  but  he  made 
no  farther  demonstration,  nor  used  any  expression  of  grati- 
tude. He  seemed  far  too  ill.  Sick  people  are  always  ab- 
sorbed in  the  sad  present ;  they  seldom  trouble  themselves 
much  about  the  past.  Only  there  was  something  in  the 
way  Tom  clung  to  her  hand,  helplessly,  imploringly,  that 
moved  the  inmost  heart  of  Elizabeth. 

"I'm  very  bad,  you  see.  This  cough — oh,  it  shakes  me 
dreadfully,  especially  of  nights." 

"Have  you  any  doctor?" 

"The  druggist  close  by,  or  rather  the  druggist's  shop- 
man. He's  a  very  kind  young  fellow,  from  our  county,  I 
fancy,  for  he  asked  me  once  if  I  wasn't  a  Stowbury  man  ; 
and  ever  since  he  has  doctored  me  for  nothing,  and  given 
me  a  shilling  too,  now  and  then,  when  I've  been  a'most 
clemmed  to  death  in  the  winter." 

"  Oh,  Tom,  why  didn't  you  write  to  me  before  ?  Have 
you  actually  wanted  food  ?" 

"Yes,  many  a  time.  I've  been  out  of  work  this  twelve- 
month." 

"But  Esther?" 

"  Who  ?"  screamed  Tom. 

"  Your  wife." 


310  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

"My  wife?  I've  got  none!  She  spent  every  thing  till 
I  fell  ill,  and  then  she  met  a  fellow  with  lots  o'  money. 
Curse  her !" 

The  fury  writh  which  he  spoke  shook  him  all  over,  and 
sent  him  into  another  violent  fit  of  coughing,  out  of  which 
he  revived  by  degrees,  but  in  a  state  of  such  complete  ex- 
haustion that  Elizabeth  hazarded  no  more  questions.  He 
must  evidently  be  dealt  with  exactly  like  a  child. 

She  made  up  her  mind  in  her  own  silent  way,  as  indeed 
she  had  done  ever  since  she  came  into  the  room. 

"  Lie  down,  Tom,  and  keep  yourself  quiet  for  a  little. 
I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can — back  with  something  to  do 
you  good.  You  won't  object  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  you  can  do  any  thing  you  like  with  me.  You 
always  could." 

Elizabeth  groped  her  way  down  stairs  strangely  calm 
and  self-possessed.  There  was  need.  Tom,  dying,  had 
come  to  her  as  his  sole  support  and  consolation — thrown 
himself  helplessly  upon  her,  never  doubting  either  her  will 
or  her  power  to  help  him.  Neither  must  fail.  The  inex- 
plicable woman's  strength,  sometimes  found  in  the  very 
gentlest,  quietest,  and  apparently  the  weakest  character, 
nerved  her  now. 

She  went  up  and  down  street  after  street,  looking  for 
lodgings,  till  the  evening  darkened,  and  the  Abbey  towers 
rose  grimly  against  the  summer  sky.  Then  she  crossed 
over  Westminster  Bridge,  and  on  a  little  street  on  the 
Surrey  side  she  found  what  she  wanted — a  decent  room, 
half  sitting,  half  bedroom,  with  what  looked  like  a  decent 
landlady.  There  was  no  time  to  make  many  inquiries; 
any  thing  was  better  than  to  leave  Tom  another  night 
w\ere  he  was. 

She  paid  a  week's  rent  in  advance ;  bought  firing  and 
provisions ;  every  thing  she  could  think  of  to  make  him 
comfortable,  and  then  she  went  to  fetch  him  in  a  cab. 

The  sick  man  offered  no  resistance ;  indeed,  he  hardly 
seemed  to  know  what  she  was  doing  with  him.  She  dis- 
covered the  cause  of  this  half-insensibility  when,  in  making 


MISTHESS   AND    MAID.  311 

a  bundle  of  his  few  clothes,  she  found  a  packet  labeled 
"opium." 

"  Don't  take  it  from  me,"  he  said,  pitifully.  "  It's  the 
only  comfort  I  have." 

But  when  he  found  himself  in  the  cheerful  room,  with 
the  fire  blazing  and  the  tea  laid  out,  he  woke  up  like  a  per- 
son out  of  a  bad  dream. 
-   "  Oh,  Elizabeth,  I'm  so  comfortable  !" 

Elizabeth  could  have  wept. 

Whether  the  wholesome  food  and  drink  revived  him,  or 
whether  it  was  one  of  the  sudden  flashes  of  life  that  often 
occur  in  consumptive  patients,  but  he  seemed  really  better, 
and  began  to  talk,  telling  Elizabeth  about  his  long  illness, 
and  saying  over  and  over  again  how  very  kind  the  drug- 
gist's young  man  had  been  to  him. 

"  I'm  sure  he's  a  gentleman,  though  he  has  come  down  in 
the  world ;  for,  as  he  says, '  Misery  makes  a  man  acquaint- 
ed with  strange  bedfellows,  and  takes  the  nonsense  out  of 
him.'  I  think  so  too ;  and  if  ever  I  get  better,  I  don't  mean 
to  go  about  the  country  speaking  against  born  gentlefolks 
any  more.  They're  much  of  a  muchness  as  ourselves — bad 
and  good;  a  little  of  all  sorts;  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as 
we  are!  Aren't  they,  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  And  there's  another  thing  I  mean  to  do — I  mean  to 
try  and  be  good  like  you.  Many  a  night,  when  I've  lain 
on  that  straw,  and  thought  I  was  dying,  I've  remembered 
you  and  all  the  things  you  used  to  say  to  me.  You  are  a 
good  woman  ;  there  never  was  a  better." 

Elizabeth  smiled,  a  faint,  rather  sad  smile ;  for,  as  she 
was  washing  up  the  tea-things,  she  had  noticed  Tom's  voice 
grow  feebler,  and  his  features  sharper  and  more  wan. 

"  I'm  very  tired,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  to  go  to  bed,  I 
get  such  wretched  nights ;  but  I  think,  if  I  lay  down  in 
my  clothes,  I  could  go  to  sleep." 

Elizabeth  helped  him  to  the  small  pallet,  shook  his  pil- 
low, and  covered  him  up  as  if  he  had  been  a  child. 

"  You're  very  good  to  me,"  he  said,  and  looked  up  at 


312  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

her — Tom's  bright,  fond  look  of  years  ago.  But  it  passed 
away  in  a  moment,  and  he  closed  his  eyes,  saying  he  was 
so  terribly  tired. 

"Then  I'll  bid  you  good-by,  for  I  ought  to  have  been  at 
home  by  now.  You'll  take  care  of  yourself,  Tom,  and  I'll 
come  and  see  you  again  the  very  first  hour  I  can  be  spared. 
And  if  you  want  me  you'll  send  to  me  at  once  ?  You  know 
where  ?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Tom.  "  It's  the  same  house,  isn't  it,  in 
Russell  Square  ?" 

"  Yes."     And  they  were  both  silent. 

After  a  minute  Tom  asked,  in  a  troubled  voice, 

"  Have  you  forgiven  me  ?" 

"Yes, Tom,  quite." 

"  Won't  you  give  me  one  kiss,  Elizabeth  ?" 

She  turned  away.  She  did  not  mean  to  be  hard,  but 
somehow  she  could  not  kiss  Esther's  husband. 

"  Ah  !  well,  it's  all  the  same.     Good-by  !" 

"Good-by,  Tom." 

But  as  she  stood  at  the  door,  and  looked  back  at  him 
lying  with  his  eyes  shut,  and  as  white  as  if  he  were  dead, 
Elizabeth's  heart  melted.  He  was  her  Tom,  her  own  Tom, 
of  whom  she  had  been  so  fond,  so  proud;  whose  future  she 
had  joyfully  anticipated  long  before  she  thought  of  herself 
as  mixed  up  with  it ;  and  he  was  dying — dying  at  four- 
and-twenty ;  passing  away  to  the  other  world,  where,  per- 
haps, she  might  meet  him  yet,  with  no  cruel  Esther  be- 
tween. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  and  knelt  beside  him,  "  Tom,  I  didn't 
mean  to  vex  you.  I'll  try  to  be  as  good  as  a  sister  to  you. 
I'll  never  forsake  you  as  long  as  you  live." 

"  I  know  you  never  will." 

"  Good-by,  then,  for  to-night." 

And  she  did  kiss  him,  mouth  to  mouth,  quietly  and  ten- 
derly. She  was  so  glad  of  it  afterward. 

It  was  late  enough  when  she  reached  Russell  Square; 
but  nobody  ever  questioned  the  proceedings  of  Mrs.  Hand, 
who  was  a  privileged  person.  She  crept  in  beside  her  lit- 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  313 

tie  Henry,  and  as  the  child  turned  in  his  sleep  and  put  his 
arms  about  her  neck,  she  clasped  him  tight,  and  thought 
there  was  still  something  to  live  for  in  this  weary  world. 

All  night  she  thought  over  what  best  could  be  done  for 
Tom.  Though  she  never  deceived  herself  for  a  moment  as 
to  Ms  state,  still  she  thought,  with  care  and  proper  nurs- 
ing, he  might  live  a  few  months,  especially  if  she  could  get 
him  into  the  Consumption  Hospital,  newly  started  in  Chel- 
sea, of  which  she  was  aware  Mr.  Ascott — who  dearly  liked 
to  see  his  name  in  a  charity-list — was  one  of  the  governors. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost ;  she  determined  to  speak 
to  her  master  at  once. 

The  time  she  chose  was  when  she  brought  down  little 
Henry,  who  was  now  always  expected  to  appear,  and  say, 
"  Dood  morning,  papa,"  before  Mr.  Ascott  went  into  the 
city.  « 

As  they  stood,  the  boy  laughing  in  his  father's  face,  and 
the  father  beaming  all  over  with  delight,  the  bitter,  almost 
fierce  thought  smote  Elizabeth,  Why  should  Peter  Ascott 
be  standing  there  fat  and  flourishing,  and  poor  Tom  dying  ? 
It  made  her  bold  to  ask  the  only  favor  she  ever  had  asked 
of  the  master  whom  she  did  not  care  for,  and  to  whom  she 
had  done  her  duty  simply  as  duty,  without,  until  lately, 
one  fragment  of  respect. 

"  Sir,  if  you  please,  might  I  speak  with  you  a  minute  be- 
fore you  go  out  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Mrs.  Hand.  Any  thing  about  Master  Hen- 
ry ?  Or  perhaps  yourself?  You  want  more  wages  ?  Very 
well.  I  shall  be  glad,  in  any  reasonable  way,  to  show  my 
satisfaction  at  the  manner  in  which  you  bring  up  my  son." 

" Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Elizabeth,  courtesying.  "But  it 
is  not  that." 

And  in  the  briefest  language  she  could  find  she  explained 
what  it  was. 

Mr.  Ascott  knitted  his  brows  and  looked  important.  He 
never  scattered  his  benefits  with  a  silent  hand,  and  he  dear- 
ly liked  to  create  difficulties^  if  only  to  show  how  he  could 
smooth  them  down. 

O 


314  MISTRESS   AND   MAID., 

"  To  get  a  patient  admitted  at  the  Consumptive  Hospital 
is,  you  should  be  aware,  no  easy  matter,  until  the  building 
at  Queen's  Elm  is  complete.  But  I  flatter  myself  I  have 
influence.  I  have  subscribed  a  deal  of  money.  Possibly 
the  person  may  be  got  in  in  time.  Who  did  you  say  he 
was  ?" 

"  Thomas  Cliffe.  He  married  one  of  the  servants  here, 
Esther—" 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself  about  the  name  ;  I  shouldn't 
recollect  it.  The  housekeeper  might.  Why  didn't  his  wife 
apply  to  the  housekeeper?" 

The  careless  question  seemed  hardly  to  expect  an  an- 
swer, and  Elizabeth  gave  none.  She  could  not  bear  to 
make  public  Tom's  misery*  and  Esther's  shame. 

"And  you  say  he  is  a  Stowbury  man?  That  is  certain- 
ly a  claim.  I  always  feel  bound,  somewhat  as  a  member 
of  Parliament  might  be,  to  do  my  best  for  any  one  belong- 
ing to  my  native  town.  So  be  satisfied,  Mrs.  Hand ;  con- 
sider the  thing  settled."  > 

And  he  was  going  away;  but  time  being  of  such  great 
moment,  Elizabeth  ventured  to  detain  him  till  he  had  writ- 
ten the  letter  of  recommendation,  and  found  out  what  days 
the  application  for  admittance  could  be  received.  He  did 
it  very  patiently,  and  even  took  out  his  purse  and  laid  a 
sovereign  on  the  top  of  the  letter. 

"I  suppose  the  man  is  poor;  you  can  use  this  for  his 
benefit," 

"  There  is  no  need,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Elizabeth,  put- 
ting it  gently  aside.  She  could  not  bear  that  Tom  should 
accept  any  body's  money  but  her  own. 

At  her  first  spare  moment  she  wrote  him  a  long  letter 
explaining  what  she  had  done,  and  appointing  the  next  day 
but  one,  the  earliest  possible,  for  taking  him  out  to  Chelsea 
herself.  If  he  objected  to  the  plan  he  was  to  write  and 
say  so ;  but  she  urged  him  as  strongly  as  she  could  not  to 
let  slip  this  opportunity  of  obtaining  good  nursing  and  first- 
rate  medical  care. 

Many  times  during  the  day  the  thought  of  Tom  alone 


MISTEESS    AND   MAID.  315 

in  his  one  room — comfortable  though  it  was,  and  though 
she  had  begged  the  landlady  to  see  that  he  wanted  noth- 
ing— came  across  her  with  a  sudden  pang.  His  face,  fee- 
bly lifted  up  from  the  pillow,  with  its  last  affectionate 
smile,  the  sound  of  his  cough  as  she  stood  listening  outside 
on  the  stair-head,  haunted  her  all  through  that  sunshiny 
June  day;  and  mingled  with  it  came  ghostly  visions  of 
that  other  day  in  June — her  happy  Whitsun  holiday — her 
first  and  her  last. 

No  letter  coming  from  Tom  on  the  appointed  morning, 
she  left  Master  Harry  in  the  charge  of  the  house-maid,  who 
was  very  fond  of  him — as  indeed  he  bade  fair  to  be  spoiled 
by  the  whole  establishment  at  Russell  Square — and  went 
down  to  Westminster. 

There  was  a  long  day  before  her,  so  she  took  a  minute's 
breathing  space  on  Westminster  Bridge,  and  watched  the 
great  current  of  London  life  ebbing  and  flowing — life  on 
the  river  and  life  on  the  shore ;  every  body  so  busy,  and 
active,  and  bright. 

"  Poor  Tom !  poor  Tom !"  she  sighed,  and  wondered 
whether  his  ruined  life  would  ever  come  to  any  happy  end- 
ing except  death. 

She  hurried  on,  and  soon  found  the  street  where  she  had 
taken  his  lodging.  At  the  corner  of  it  was,  as  is  too  usual 
in  London  streets,  a  public  house,  about  which  more  than 
the  usual  number  of  disreputable  idlers  were  hanging. 
There  were  also  one  or  two  policemen,  who  were  ordering 
the  little  crowd  to  give  way  to  a  group  of  twelve  men, 
coming  out. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Elizabeth. 

"  Coroner's  inquest ;  jury  proceeding  to  view  the  body." 

Elizabeth,  who  had  never  come  into  contact  with  any 
thing  of  the  sort,  stood  aside  with  a  sense  of  awe,  to  let 
the  little  procession  pass,  and  then  followed  it  up  the 
street. 

It  stopped — oh  no  !  not  at  that  door !  But  it  was ;  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  number,  nor  the  drawn-down  blind 
in  the  upper  room — Tom's  room. 


316  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

"  Who  is  dead  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  whisper  that  made  the 
policeman  stare. 

"  Oh  !  nobody  particular ;  a  young  man,  found  dead  in 
his  bed ;  supposed  to  be  a  case  of  consumption ;  verdict 
will  probably  be, '  Died  by  the  visitation  of  God.' " 

Ay,  that  familiar  phrase,  our  English  law's  solemn  recog- 
nition of  our  national  religious  feeling,  was  true  here.  God 
had  "  visited"  poor  Tom ;  he  suffered  no  more. 

Elizabeth  leaned  against  the  doorway,  and  saw  the 
twelve  jurymen  go  up  stairs  with  a  clatter  of  feet,  and 
come  down  again,  one  after  the  other,  less  noiselessly,  and 
some  of  them  looking  grave.  Nobody  took  any  notice  of 
her  until  the  lodging-house  mistress  appeared. 

"  Oh,  here  she  is,  gentlemen.  This  is  the  young  woman 
as  saw  him  last  alive.  She'll  give  her  evidence.  She'll  tell 
you  I'm  not  a  bit  to  blame." 

And,  pulling  Elizabeth  after  her,  the  landlady  burst  into 
a  torrent  of  explanation — how  she  had  done  her  very  best 
for  the  poor  fellow ;  how  she  had  listened  at  his  door  sev- 
eral times  during  the  first  day,  and  heard  him  cough,  that 
is,  she  thought  she  had,  but  toward  night  all  was  so  very 
quiet ;  and  there  having  come  a  letter  by  post,  she  thought 
she  would  take  it  up  to  him. 

"  And  I  went  in,  gentlemen,  and  I  declare,  upon  my  oath, 
I  found  him  lying  just  as  he  is  now,  and  as  cold  as  a  stone." 

"  Let  me  pass ;  I'm  a  doctor,"  said  somebody  behind ;  a 
young  man,  very  shabbily  dressed,  with  a  large  beard.  He 
pushed  aside  the  landlady  and  Elizabeth  till  he  saw  the 
latter's  face. 

"  Give  that  young  woman  a  chair  and  a  glass  of  water, 
will  you  ?"  he  called  out ;  and  his  authoritative  manner  im- 
pressed the  jurymen,  who  gathered  round  him,  ready  and 
eager  to  hear  any  thing  he  could  say. 

He  gave  his  name  as  John  Smith,  druggist's  assistant ; 
said  that  the  young  man  who  lodged  up  stairs,  whose  death 
he  had  only  just  heard  of,  had  been  his  patient  for  some 
months,  and  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption.  He 
had  no  doubt  the  death  had  ensued  from  perfectly  natural 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  317 

causes,  as  he  explained  in  such  technical  language  as  com- 
pletely to  overpower  the  jury,  and  satisfy  them  according- 
ly. They  quitted  the  parlor,  and  proceeded  to  the  public 
house,  where,  after  a  brief  consultation,  they  delivered  their 
verdict,  as  the  astute  policeman  had  foretold,  "Died  by  the 
visitation  of  God  ;"  took  pipes  and  brandy  all  round  at  the 
bar,  and  then  adjourned  to  their  several  homes,  gratified  at 
having  done  their  duty  to  their  country. 

Meantime  Elizabeth  crept  up  stairs.  Nobody  hindered 
or  followed  her;  nobody  cared  any  thing  for  the  solitary 
dead. 

There  he  lay — poor  Tom ! — almost  as  she  had  left  him ; 
the  counterpane  was  hardly  disturbed,  the  candle  she  had 
placed  on  the  chair  had  burned  down  to  a  bit  of  wick, 
which  still  lay  in  the  socket.  Nobody  had  touched  him, 
or  any  thing  about  him,  as,  in  all  cases  of  "Found  dead," 
English  law  exacts. 

Whether  he  had  died  soon  after  she  quitted  him  that 
night,  or  whether  he  had  lingered  through  the  long  hours 
of  darkness,  or  of  daylight  following,  alive  and  conscious 
perhaps,  yet  too  weak  to  call  any  one,  even  had  there  been 
any  one  he  cared  to  call — when  or  how  the  spirit  had 
passed  away  unto  Him  who  gave  it  were  mysteries  that 
could  never  be  known. 

But  it  was  all  over  now ;  he  lay  at  rest  with  the  death 
smile  on  his  face.  Elizabeth,  as  she  stood  and  looked  at 
him,  could  not,  dared  not  weep. 

"My  poor  Tom,  my  own  dear  Tom,"  was  all  she  thought, 
and  knew  that  he  was  all  her  own  now ;  that  she  had  loved 
him  through  every  thing,  and  loved  him  to  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XXYHI. 


ELIZABETH  spent  the  greatest  part  of  her  holiday  in  that 
house,  in  that  room.  Nobody  interfered  with  her ;  nobody 
asked  in  what  relation  she  stood  to  the  deceased,  or  what 
right  she  had  to  take  upon  herself  the  arrangements  for  his 


318  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

funeral.  Every  body  was  only  too  glad  to  let  her  assume 
a  responsibility  which  would  otherwise  have  fallen  on  the 
parish. 

The  only  person  who  appeared  to  remember  either  her 
or  the  dead  man  was  the  druggist's  assistant,  who  sent  in 
the  necessary  medical  certificate  as  to  the  cause  of  death. 
Elizabeth  took  it  to  the  Registrar,  and  thence  proceeded 
to  an  undertaker  hard  by,  with  whom  she  arranged  all 
about  the  funeral,  and  that  it  should  take  place  in  the  new 
cemetery  at  Kensal  Green.  She  thought  she  should  like 
that  better  than  a  close,  noisy  London  church-yard. 

Before 'she  left  the  house  she  saw  poor  Tom  laid  in  his 
coffin,  and  covered  up  forever  from  mortal  eyes.  Then,  and 
not  till  then,  she  sat  herself  down  beside  him  and  wept. 

Nobody  contested  with  her  the  possession  of  the  few 
things  that  had  belonged  to  him,  which  were  scarcely  more 
than  the  clothes  he  had  on  when  he  died ;  so  she  made 
them  up  into  a  parcel  and  took  them  away  with  her.  In 
his  waistcoat  pocket  she  found  one  book,  a  little  Testament, 
which  she  had  given  him  herself.  It  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  a  good  deal  read.  If  all  his  studies,  all  his  worship 
of  "  pure  intellect,"  as  the  one  supreme  good,  had  ended  in 
that,  it  was  a  blessed  ending. 

When  she  reached  home  Elizabeth  went  at  once  to  her 
master,  returned  him  his  letter  of  recommendation,  and  ex- 
plained to  him  that  his  kindness  was  not  needed  now. 

Mr.  Ascott  seemed  a  good  deal  shocked,  inquired  from 
her  a  few  particulars,  and  again  took  out  his  purse,  his  one 
panacea  for  all  mortal  woes.  But  Elizabeth  declined ;  she 
said  she  would  only  ask  him  for  an  advance  of  her  next 
half-year's  wages.  She  preferred  burying  her  old  friend 
herself. 

She  buried  him,  herself  the  only  mourner,  on  a  bright 
summer's  day,  with  the  sun  shining  dazzlingly  on  the  white 
grave-stones  in  Kensal  Green.  The  clergyman  appeared, 
read  the  service,  and  went  away  again.  A  few  minutes 
ended  it  all.  When  the  undertaker  and  his  men  had  also 
departed  she  sat  down  on  a  bench  near  to  watch  the  sex- 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  319 

ton  filling  up  the  grave — Tom's  grave.  She  was  very  quiet, 
and  none  but  a  closely-observant  person  watching  her  face 
could  have  penetrated  into  the  truth  of  what  your  impul- 
sive characters,  always  in  the  extremes  of  mirth  or  misery, 
never  understand  about  quiet  people,  that  "  still  waters  run 
deep." 

While  she  sat  there  some  one  came  past  her  and  turned 
round.  It  was  the  shabby-looking  chemist's  assistant,  who 
had  appeared  at  the  inquest  and  given  the  satisfactory  ev- 
idence which  had  prevented  the  necessity  of  her  giving 
hers. 

Elizabeth  rose  and  acknowledged  him  with  a  respectful 
courtesy;  for  under  his  threadbare  clothes  was  the  bearing 
of  a  gentleman,  and  he  had  been  so  kind  to  Tom. 

"  I  am  too  late,"  he  said ;  "  the  funeral  is  over.  I  meant 
to  have  attended  it,  and  seen  the  last  of  the  poor  fellow." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Elizabeth,  gratefully. 

The  young  man  stood  before  her,  looking  at  her  earnest- 
ly for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  exclaimed,  with  a  com- 
plete change  of  voice  and  manner,  "  Elizabeth  !  don't  you 
know  me  ?  What  has  become  of  my  Aunt  Johanna?" 

It  was  Ascott  Leaf. 

But  no  wonder  Elizabeth  had  not  recognized  him.  His 
close-cropped  hair,  his  large  beard  hiding  half  his  face,  and 
a  pair  of  spectacles  which  he  had  assumed,  were  a  suffi- 
cient disguise.  Besides,  the  great  change  from  his  former 
"dandy"  appearance  to  the  extreme  of  shabbiness — his 
clothes  being  evidently  worn  as  long  as  they  could  possibly 
hold  together,  and  his  generally  depressed  air  giving  the 
effect  of  one  who  had  gone  down  in  the  world — made  him, 
even  without  the  misleading  "  John  Smith,"  most  unlikely 
to  be  identified  with  the  Ascott  Leaf  of  old. 

"  I  never  should  have  known  you,  sir !"  said  Elizabeth, 
truthfully,  when  her  astonishment  had  a  little  subsided ; 
"  but  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  Oh,  how  thankful  your 
aunts  will  be !" 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  thought  it  was  quite  the  contrary. 
But  it  does  not  matter;  they  will  never  hear  of  me,  unless 


320  MISTRESS   AND   MAID. 

you  tell  them — and  I  believe  I  may  trust  you.  You  would 
not  betray  me,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  that  poor  fellow  yon- 
der?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Now  tell  me  something  about  my  aunts,  especially  my 
Aunt  Johanna." 

And  sitting  down  in  the  sunshine,  with  his  arm  upon  the 
back  of  the  bench,  and  his  hand  hiding  his  eyes,  the  poc-r 
prodigal  listened  in  silence  to  every  thing  Elizabeth  told 
him;  of  his  Aunt  Selina's  marriage  and  death,  and  of  Mr. 
Lyon's  return,  and  of  the  happy  home  at  Liverpool. 

"  They  are  all  quite  happy,  then  ?"  said  he,  at  length ; 
"  they  seem  to  have  begun  to  prosper  ever  since  they  got 
rid  of  me.  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it.  I  only  wanted  to  hear 
of  them  from  you.  I  shall  never  trouble  them  any  more. 
You'll  keep  my  secret,  I  know.  And  now  I  must  go,  for  I 
have  not  a  minute  more  to  spare.  Good-by,  Elizabeth." 

With  a  humility  and  friendliness,  strange  enough  in  As- 
cott  Leaf,  he  held  out  his  hand — empty,  for  he  had  nothing 
to  give  now — to  his  aunt's  old  servant.  But  Elizabeth  de- 
tained him. 

"Don't  go,  sir;  please  don't — not  just  yet."  And  then 
she  added,  with  an  earnest  respectfulness  that  touched  the 
heart  of  the  poor,  shabby  man, "  I  hope  you'll  pardon  the 
liberty  I  take.  I'm  only  a  servant,  but  I  knew  you  when 
you  were  a  boy,  Mr.  Leaf;  and  if  you  would  trust  me — if 
you  would  let  me  be  of  use  to  you  in  any  way — if  only  be- 
cause you  were  so  good  to  him  there." 

"  Poor  Tom  Cliffe ;  he  was  not  a  bad  fellow ;  he  liked  me 
rather,  I  think ;  and  I  was  able  to  doctor  him,  and  help  him 
a  little.  Heigh-ho ;  it's  a  comfort  to  think  I  ever  did  any 
good  to  any  body." 

Ascott  sighed,  drew  his  rusty  coat-sleeve  across  his  eyes, 
and  sat  contemplating  his  boots,  which  were  any  thing  but 
dandy  boots  now. 

"Elizabeth,  what  relation  was  Tom  to  you?  If  I  had 
known  you  were  acquainted  with  him  I  should  have  been 
afraid  to  go  near  him ;  but  I  felt  sure,  though  he  came  from 


MISTRESS    AND    MAID.  321 

Stowbury,  he  did  not  guess  who  I  was ;  he  only  knew  me 
as  Mr.  Smith ;  and  he  never  once  mentioned  you.  Was  he 
your  cousin,  or  what  ?" 

Elizabeth  considered  a  moment,  and  then  told  the  simple 
fact ;  it  could  not  matter  now. 

"  I  was  once  going  to  be  married  to  him,  but  he  saw 
somebody  he  liked  better,  and  married  her." 

"  Poor  girl !  poor  Elizabeth  !" 

Perhaps  nothing  could  have  shown  the  great  change  in 
Ascott  more  than  the  tone  in  which  he  uttered  these  words ; 
a  tone  of  entire  respect  and  kindly  pity,  from  which  he 
never  once  departed  during  that  conversation,  and  many, 
many  others,  so  long  as  their  confidential  relations  lasted. 

"  Now,  sir,  would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  something 
about  yourself?  I'll  not  repeat  any  thing  to  your  aunts, 
if  you  don't  wish  it." 

Ascott  yielded.  He  had  been  so  long,  so  utterly  forlorn. 
He  sat  down  beside  Elizabeth,  and  then,  with  eyes  often 
averted,  and  with  many  breaks  between,  which  she  had  to 
fill  up  as  best  she  could,  he  told  her  all  his  story,  even  to 
the  sad  secret  of  all,  which  had  caused  him  to  run  away 
from  home,  and  hide  himself  in  the  last  place  where  they 
would  have  thought  he  was,  the  safe  wilderness  of  London. 
There,  carefully  disguised,  he  had  lived  decently  while  his 
money  lasted,  and  then,  driven  step  by  step  to  the  brink 
of  destitution,  he  had  oifered  himself  for  employment  in  the 
lowest  grade  of  his  own  profession,  and  been  taken  as  as- 
sistant by  the  not  overscrupulous  chemist  and  druggist  in 
that  not  too  respectable  neighborhood  of  Westminster,  witli 
a  salary  of  twenty  pounds  a  year. 

"And  I  actually  live  upon  it!"  added  he,  with  a  bitter 
smile.  "  I  can't  run  into  debt ;  for  who  would  trust  me  ? 
And  I  dress  in  rags  almost,  as  you  see.  And  I  get  my 
meals  how  and  where  I  can ;  and  I  sleep  under  the  shop- 
counter.  A  pretty  life  for  Mr.  Ascott  Leaf,  isn't  it,  now  ? 
What  would  my  aunts  say  if  they  knew  it?" 

"They  would  say  it  was  an  honest  life,  and  that  they 
were  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  you." 

O  2 


322  MISTEESS    AND   MAID. 

Ascott  drew  himself  up  a  little,  and  his  chest  heaved  vis- 
ibly under  the  close-buttoned,  threadbare  coat. 

"  Well,  at  least  it  is  a  life  that  makes  nobody  else  mis- 
erable." 

Ay,  that  wonderful  teacher,  Adversity, 

' '  Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  its  head," 

had  left  behind  this  jewel  in  the  young  man's  heart.  A 
disguised,  beggared  outcast,  he  had  found  out  the  value  of 
an  honest  name ;  forsaken,  unfriended,  he  had  learned  the 
preciousness  of  home  and  love ;  made  a  servant  of,  tyran- 
nized over,  and  held  in  low  esteem,  he  had  been  taught  by 
hard  experience  the  secret  of  true  humility  and  charity — 
the  esteeming  of  others  better  than  himself. 

Not  with  all  natures  does  misfortune  so  work,  but  it  did 
with  his.  He  had  sinned ;  he  had  paid  the  cost  of  his  sin 
in  bitter  suffering ;  but  the  result  was  cheaply  bought,  and 
he  already  began  to  feel  that  it  was  so. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  a  question  of  Elizabeth's, 
"  I  really  am,  for  some  things,  happier  than  I  used  to  be.  I 
feel  more  like  what  I  was  in  the  old  days,  when  I  was  a  lit- 
tle chap  at  Stowbury.  Poor  old  Stowbury  !  I  often  think 
of  the  place  in  a  way  that's  perfectly  ridiculous.  Still,  if 
any  thing  happened  to  me,  I  should  like  my  aunts  to  know 
it,  and  that  I  didn't  forget  them." 

"  But,  sir,"  asked  Elizabeth,  earnestly,  "  do  you  never 
mean  to  go  near  your  aunts  again  ?" 

"  I  can't  say ;  it  all  depends  upon  circumstances.  I  sup- 
pose," he  added, "  if,  as  is  said,  one's  sin  is  sure  to  find  one 
out,  the  same  rule  goes  by  contraries.  It  seems  poor  Cliffe 
once  spoke  of  me  to  a  district  visitor,  the  only  visitor  he 
ever  had ;  and  this  gentleman,  hearing  of  the  inquest,  came 
yesterday  to  inquire  about  him  of  me ;  and  the  end  was 
that  he  offered  me  a  situation  with  a  person  he  knew,  a 
very  respectable  chemist  in  Tottenham  Court  Road." 

"And  shall  you  go?" 

"  To  be  sure.     I've  learned  to  be  thankful  for  small  mer- 


MISTRESS   AND    MAIL).  323 

cies.  Nobody  will  find  me  out  or  recognize  me.  You 
didn't.  Who  knows?  I  may  even  have  the  honor  of  dis- 
pensing drugs  to  Uncle  Ascott  of  Russell  Square." 

"  But,"  said  Elizabeth,  after  a  pause,  "  you  will  not  al- 
ways remain  as  John  Smith,  druggist's  shopman,  throwing 
away  all  your  good  education,  and  position,  and  name?" 

"Elizabeth,"  said  he,  in  a  humbled  tone,  "how  dare  I 
ever  resume  my  own  name  and  get  back  my  rightful  posi- 
tion while  Peter  Ascott  lives  ?  Can  you  or  any  body  point 
out  a  way  ?" 

She  thought  the  question  over  in  her  clear  head;  clear 
still,  even  at  this  hour,  when  she  had  to  think  for  others, 
though  all  personal  feeling  and  interest  were  buried  in  that 
grave  over  which  the  sexton  was  now  laying  the  turf  that 
would  soon  grow  smoothly  green. 

"  If  I  might  advise,  Mr.  Leaf,  I  should  say,  save  up  all 
your  money,  and  then  go,  just  as  you  are,  with  an  honest, 
bold  front,  right  into  my  master's  house,  with  the  fifty 
pounds  in  your  hand — " 

"  By  Jove,  you've  hit  it !"  cried  Ascott,  starting  up. 
"  What  a  thing  a  woman's  head  is  !  I've  turned  over 
scheme  after  scheme,  but  I  never  once  thought  of  any  so 
simple  as  that.  Bravo,  Elizabeth !  You're  a  remarkable 
woman." 

She  smiled — a  very  sad  smile — but  still  she  felt  glad. 
Any  thing  that  she  could  possibly  do  for  any  creature  be- 
longing to  her  dear  mistresses  seemed  to  this  faithful  serv- 
ant the  natural  and  bounden  duty  of  her  life. 

Long  after  the  young  man,  whose  mercurial  temperament 
no  trouble  could  repress,  had  gone  away  in  excellent  spirits, 
leaving  her  an  address  where  she  could  always  find  him, 
and  give  him  regular  news  of  his  aunts,  though  he  made 
her  promise  to  give  them,  as  yet,  no  tidings  in  return,  Eliz- 
abeth sat  still,  watching  the  sun  decline  and  the  shadows 
lengthen  over  the  field  of  graves.  In  the  calmness  and 
beauty  of  this  solitary  place  an  equal  calm  seemed  to  come 
over  her;  a  sense  of  how  wonderfully  events  had  linked 
themselves  together  and  worked  themselves  out ;  how  even 


324  MISTEESS   AND   MAID. 

poor  Tom's  mournful  death  had  brought  about  this  meet- 
ing, which  might  end  in  restoring  to  her  beloved  mistresses 
their  lost  sheep,  their  outcast,  miserable  boy.  She  did  not 
reason  the  matter  out,  but  she  felt  it,  and  felt  that  in  mak- 
ing her  in  some  degree  his  instrument  God  had  been  very 
good  to  her  in  the  midst  of  her  desolation. 

It  seemed  Elizabeth's  lot  always  to  have  to  put  aside 
her  own  troubles  for  the  trouble  of  somebody  else.  Al- 
most immediately  after  Tom  Cliife's  death  her  little  Henry 
fell  ill  with  scarlatina,  and  remained  for  many  months  in 
a  state  of  health  so  fragile  as  to  engross  all  her  thought 
and  care.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  contrived  a  few 
times  to  go  for  Henry's  medicines  to  the  shop  where  "  John 
Smith"  served. 

She  noticed  that  every  time  he  looked  healthier,  bright- 
er, freer  from  that  aspect  of  broken-down  respectability 
which  had  touched  her  so  much.  Pie  did  not  dress  any 
better,  but  still  "  the  gentleman"  in  him  could  never  be 
hidden  or  lost,  and  he  said  his  master  treated  him  "  like  a 
gentleman,"  which  was  apparently  a  pleasant  novelty. 

"  I  have  some  time  to  myself  also.  Shop  shuts  at  nine, 
and  I  get  up  at  5  A.M. — bless  us  !  what  would  my  aunt  Hi- 
lary say  !  And  it's  not  for  nothing.  There  are  more  ways 
than  one  of  turning  an  honest  penny,  when  a  young  fellow 
really  sets  about  it.  Elizabeth,  you  used  to  be  a  literary 
character  yourself;  look  into  the and  the "  (nam- 
ing two  popular  magazines),  "  and  if  you  find  a  series  of 
especially  clever  papers  on  sanitary  reform,  and  so  on,  I 
did  'em !" 

He  slapped  his  chest  with  Ascott's  merry  laugh  of  old. 
It  cheered  Elizabeth  for  a  long  while  afterward. 

By-and-by  she  had  to  take  little  Henry  to  Brighton,  and 
lost  sight  of  "  John  Smith"  for  some  time  longer. 

It  was  on  a  snowy  February  day,  when,  having  brought 
the  child  home  quite  strong,  and  received  unlimited  grati- 
tude and  guineas  from  the  delighted  father,  Master  Henry's 
faithful  nurse  stood  in  her  usual  place  at  the  dining-room 
door,  waiting  for  the  interminable  grace  of"  only  five  min- 


MISTRESS   AND   MAID.  325 

utes  more"  to  be  over,  and  her  boy  carried  ignominiously 
but  contentedly  to  bed. 

The  footman  knocked  at  the  door.  "A  young  man  want- 
ing to  speak  to  master  on  particular  business." 

"Let  him  send  in  his  name." 

"He  says  you  wouldn't  know  it,  sir." 

"  Show  him  in,  then.  Probably  a  case  of  charity,  as  usu- 
al. Oh !" 

And  Mr.  Ascott's  opinion  was  confirmed  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  shabby  young  man  with  the  long  beard,  whom 
Elizabeth  did  not  wonder  he  never  recognized  in  the  least. 

She  ought  to  have  retired,  and  yet  she  could  not.  She 
hid  herself  partly  behind  the  door,  afraid  of  passing  As- 
cott,  dreading  alike  to  wound  him  by  recognition  or  non- 
recognition.  But  he  took  no  notice.  He  seemed  excessive- 
ly agitated. 

"  Come  a-begging,  young  man,  I  suppose  ?  Wants  a  situ- 
ation, as  hundreds  do,  and  think  that  I  have  half  the  clerk- 
ships in  the  city  at  my  disposal,  and  that  I  am  made  of 
money  besides.  But  it's  no  good,  I  tell  you,  sir ;  I  never 
give  nothing  to  strangers,  except — Here,  Henry,  my  son, 
take  that  person  there  this  half  crown." 

And  the  little  boy,  in  his  pretty  purple  velvet  frock  and 
his  prettier  face,  trotted  across  the  room  and  put  the  mon- 
ey into  poor  Ascott's  hand.  He  took  it ;  and  then,  to  the 
astonishment  of  Master  Henry,  and  the  still  greater  aston- 
ishment of  his  father,  lifted  up  the  child  and  kissed  him. 

"  Young  man,  young  fellow — " 

"  I  see  you  don't  know  me,  Mr.  Ascott,  and  it's  not  sur- 
prising. But  I  have  come  to  repay  you  this — "  he  laid  a 
fifty-pound  note  down  on  the  table.  "  Also,  to  thank  you 
earnestly  for  not  prosecuting  me,  and  to  say — " 

"Good  God!"  —  the  sole  expletive  Peter  Ascott  had 
been  heard  to  use  for  long — "  Ascott  Leaf,  is  that  you  ?  I 
thought  you  were  in  Australia,  or  dead,  or  something." 

"No,  I'm  alive  and  here,  more's  the  pity  perhaps,  except 
that  I  have  lived  to  pay  you  back  what  I  cheated  you  out 
of.  What  you  generously  gave  me  I  can't  pay,  though  I 


326  MISTRESS    AND    MAID. 

may  some  time.  Meantime  I  have  brought  you  this.  It's 
honestly  earned.  Yes" — observing  the  keen  doubtful  look 
— "  though  I  have  hardly  a  coat  to  my  back,  I  assure  you 
it's  honestly  earned." 

Mr.  Ascott  made  no  reply.  He  stooped  over  the  bank- 
note, examined  it,  folded  it,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket-book ; 
then,  after  another  puzzled  investigation  of  Ascott,  cleared 
his  throat. 

"Mrs.  Hand,  you  had  better  take  Master  Henry  up  stairs." 

An  hour  after,  when  little  Henry  had  long  been  sound 
asleep,  and  she  was  sitting  at  her  usual  evening  sewing  in 
her  solitary  nursery,  Elizabeth  learned  that  the  "  shabby 
young  man"  was  still  in  the  dining-room  with  Mr.  Ascott, 
who  had  rung  for  tea  and  some  cold  meat  with  it.  And 
the  footman  stated,  with  undisguised  amazement,  that  the 
shabby  young  man  was  actually  sitting  at  the  same  table 
with  master! 

Elizabeth  smiled  to  herself,  and  held  her  tongue.  Now, 
as  ever,  she  always  kept  the  secrets  of  the  family. 

About  ten  o'clock  she  was  summoned  to  the  dining-room. 

There  stood  Peter  Ascott,  pompous  as  ever,  but  with  a 
certain  kindly  good-humor  lightening  his  heavy  face,  look- 
ing condescendingly  around  him,  and  occasionally  rubbing 
his  hands  slowly  together,  as  if  he  were  exceedingly  well 
pleased  with  himself.  There  stood  Ascott  Leaf,  looking 
bright  and  handsome  in  spite  of  his  shabbiness,  and  quite 
at  his  ease — which  small  peculiarity  was  never  likely  to 
be  knocked  out  of  him  under  the  most  depressing  circum- 
stances. 

He  shook  hands  with  Elizabeth  warmly. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  have  any  message  for  Liv- 
erpool. I  go  there  to-morrow  on  business  for  Mr.  Ascott, 
and  afterward  I  shall  probably  go  and  see  my  aunts."  He 
faltered  a  moment,  but  quickly  shook  the  emotion  off.  "  Of 
course  I  shall  tell  them  all  about  you,  Elizabeth.  Any 
special  message,  eh  ?" 

"Only  my  duty,  sir,  and  Master  Henry  is  quite  well 
again,"  said  Elizabeth,  formally,  and  dropping  her  old-fash- 


MISTRESS    AND   MAID.  327 

ioned  courtesy ;  after  which,  as  quickly  as  she  could,  she 
slipped  out  of  the  dining-room. 

But  long,  long  after,  when  all  the  house  was  gone  to  bed, 
she  stood  at  the  nursery  window,  looking  down  upon  the 
trees  of  the  square,  that  stretched  their  motionless  arms  up 
into  the-  moonlight  sky — just  such  a  moonlight  as  it  was 
once,  more  than  three  years  ago,  the  night  little  Henry  was 
born.  And  she  recalled  all  the  past,  from  the  clay  when 
Miss  Hilary  hung  up  her  bonnet  for  her  in  the  house-place 
at  Stowbury ;  the  dreary  life  at  No.  15  ;  the  Sunday  nights 
when  she  and  Tom  Cliife  used  to  go  wandering  round  and 
round  the  square. 

"  Poor  Tom !"  said  she  to  herself,  thinking  of  Ascott  Leaf, 
and  how  happy  he  had  looked,  and  how  happy  his  aunts 
would  be  to-morrow.  "  Well,  Tom  would  be  glad  too  if 
he  knew  all." 

But,  happy  as  every  body  was,  there  was  nothing  so  close 
to  Elizabeth's  heart  as  the  one  grave  over  which  the  snow 
was  now  lying,  white  and  peaceful,  out  at  Kensal  Green. 

Elizabeth  is  still  living — which  is  a  great  blessing,  for 
nobody  could  well  do  without  her.  She  will  probably 
attain  a  good  old  age,  being  healthy  and  strong,  very  equa- 
ble in  temper  now,  and  very  cheerful  too,  in  her  quiet  way. 
Doubtless  she  will  yet  have  Master  Henry's  children  climb- 
ing her  knees,  and  calling  her  "  Mammy  Lizzie." 

But  she  will  never  marry.  She  never  loved  any  body 
but  Tom. 


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cut Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $8  00;  Sheep,  $10  00;  Half  Calf, 
$17  00. 

THE  KISE  OF  THE  DUTCH  REPUBLIC.  A  History.  By 
JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  With  a  Portrait  of 
William  of  Orange.  3  vols.,  in  a  Box.  8vo,  Cloth,  with  Pa- 
per Labels,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $6  00;  Sheep,  $7  60; 
Half  Calf,  $12  75.  (Sold  only  in  Sets.) 

HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  NETHERLANDS:  From  the 
Death  of  William  the  Silent  to  the  Twelve  Years'  Truce — 1548- 
1609.  With  a  full  View  of  the  English-Dutch  Struggle  against 
Spain,  and  of  the  Origin  and  Destruction  of  the  Spanish  Armada. 
By  JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY,  LL.D., D.C.L.  Portraits.  4  vols., 
in  a  Box,  8vo,  Cloth,  with  Paper  Labels,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt 
Tops,  $8  00 ;  Sheep,  $10  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $17  00.  (Sold  only  in 
Sets.) 

THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  JOHN  OF  BARNEVELD, 

Advocate  of  Holland.  With  a  View  of  the  Primary  Causes  and 
Movements  of  the  "Thirty  Years' War."  By  JOHN  LOTHROP 
MOTLEY,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  Illustrated.  2  vols.,  in  a  Box,  8vo, 
Cloth,  with  Paper  Labels,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $4  00 ,' 
Sheep,  $5  00;  Half  Calf,  $8  50.  (Sold  only  in 


Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.  3 

GIBBON'S  ROME.  The  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire.  By  EDWARD  GIBBON.  With  Notes  by  Dean 
MILMAN,  M.  GUIZOT,  and  Dr.  WILLIAM  SMITH.  6  vols.,  in  a 
Box,  8vo,  Cloth,  with  Paper  Labels,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops, 
$12  00;  Sheep,  $15  00;  Half  Calf,  $25  50.  Popular  Edition, 
6  vols.,  in  a  Box,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00;  Sheep,  $4  50.  (Sold 
only  in  Sets.) 

A  DICTIONARY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE.  Pro- 
nouncing, Etymological,  and  Explanatory :  embracing  Scientific 
and  other  Terms,  Numerous  Familiar  Terms,  and  a  Copious  Se- 
lection of  Old  English  Words.  By  the  Rev.  JAMES  STORMONTH. 
The  Pronunciation  Revised  by  the  Rev.  P.  H.  PHELP,  M.A. 
Imperial  8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00;  Half  Roan,  $6  50;  Full  Sheep, 
$G  50. 

A  MANUAL  OF  HISTORICAL  LITERATURE,  comprising 
Bnef  Descriptions  of  the  most  Important  Histories  in  English, 
French,  and  German,  together  with  Practical  Suggestions  as  to 
Methods  and  Courses  of  Historical  Study,  for  the  Use  of  Stu- 
dents, General  Readers,  and  Collectors  of  Books.  By  CHARLES 
KENDALL  ADAMS,  LL.D.  Third  Edition,  Revised  and  Enlarged. 
Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

ART  AND  CRITICISM.  Monographs  and  Studies.  By  THEO- 
DORE CHILD.  Richly  Illustrated.  Large  Svo,  Cloth,  Ornament- 
al, Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $6  00.  (In  a  Box.) 

THE  SPANISH -AMERICAN  REPUBLICS.  By  THEODORE 
CHILD.  Illustrated  by  T.  DE  THULSTRDP,  FREDERIC  REMING- 
TON, WILLIAM  HAMILTON  GIBSON,  W.  H.  ROGERS,  and  other 
Eminent  Artists.  Large  Svo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $3  50. 

ILIOS,  the  City  and  Country  of  the  Trojans.  A  Narrative  of  the 
Most  Recent  Discoveries  and  Researches  made  on  the  Plain  of 
Troy.  By  Dr.  HENRY  SCHLIEMANN.  Maps,  Plans,  and  Illus- 
trations. Imperial  Svo,  Illuminated  Cloth,  $7  60 ;  Half  Mo- 
rocco, $10  00. 

TROJA.  Results  of  the  Latest  Researches  and  Discoveries  on 
the  Site  of  Homer's  Troy,  and  in  the  Heroic  Tumuli  and  other 
Sites,  made  in  the  Year  1882,  and  a  Narrative  of  a  Journey  in 
the  Troad  in  1881.  By  Dr.  HENRY  SCHLIEMANN.  Preface  by 
Professor  A.  H.  Sayce.  With  Wood -cuts,  Maps,  and  Plans. 
Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Half  Morocco,  $7  50. 


4  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  By  RICHARD 
DRKTH.  FIRST  SERIES  :  From  the  Discovery  of  the  Continent 
to  the  Organization  of  the  Government  under  the  Federal  Con- 
stitution. SECOND  SERIES:  From  the  Adoption  of  the  Federal 
Constitution  to  the  end  of  the  Sixteenth  Congress.  Popular 
Edition,  6  vols.,  in  a  Box,  8vo,  Cloth,  with  Paper  Labels,  Uncut 
Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $12  00;  Sheep,  $15  00;  Half  Calf,  $25  00 
(Sold  only  in  Sets.) 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN  and  His  Ad- 
ministration. By  Lucius  E.  CHITTENDEN.  With  Portrait. 
8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  50 ;  Half  Calf, 
$4  75. 

MEMOIR  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT  and  of 
Alice  Oliphant,  his  wife.  By  MARGARET  OLIPHANT  W.  OLI- 
PHANT. 2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $7  00. 
(In  a  Box.) 

EPISODES  IN  A  LIFE  OF  ADVENTURE;  or,  Moss  from  a 
Rolling  Stone.  By  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

HAIFA;  OR,  LIFE  IN  MODERN  PALESTINE.  By  LAURENCE 
OLIPHANT.  Edited,  with  Introduction,  by  CHARLES  A.  DANA. 
12mo,  Cloth,  $L  75. 

CONSTITUTIONAL  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES 

from  their  Declaration  of  Independence  to  the  Close  of  their 
Civil  War.  By  GEORGE  TICKNOR  CURTIS.  Two  Volumes. 
Vol.  I.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $3  00. 

OUR  ITALY.  An  Exposition  of  the  Climate  and  Resources  of 
Southern  California.  By  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER.  Illus- 
trated. 8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  50. 

LONDON  LETTERS,  and  Some  Others.  By  GEORGE  W. 
SMALLEY,  London  Correspondent  of  the  New  York  Tribune. 
Two  Volumes.  Vol  I.  Personalities — Two  Midlothian  Cam< 
paigns.  Vol.  II.  Notes  on  Social  Life — Notes  on  Parliament-- 
Pageants —  Miscellanies.  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt 
Tops,  $(5  00. 

LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  GENERAL  THOMAS  J.  JACKSON 
(Stonewall  Jackson).  By  His  Wife,  MARY  ANNA  JACKSON. 
With  an  Introduction  by  HENRY  M.  FIELD,  D.D.  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 


Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.  6 


'POLITICAL  HISTORY  OF  RECENT  TIMES  (1816-1875). 
With  Special  Reference  to  Germany.  By  WILLIAM  MULLER. 
Translated,  with  an  Appendix  covering  the  Period  from  1876  to 
1881,  by  the  Rev.  JOHN  P.  PETERS,  Ph.D.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  LORD  MACAULAY.  By 
his  Nephew,  GEORGE  OTTO  TREVELYAN,  M.l\  With  Portrait 
on  Steel.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops, 
$5  00 ;  Sheep,  $6  00  ;  Half  Calf,  $9  50.  Popular  Edition,  two 
vols.  in  one,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

THE  EARLY  HISTORY  OF  CHARLES  JAMES  FOX.     By 

GEORGE  OTTO  TREVELYAN.      8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt 

Tops,  $2  50  ;   Half  Calf,  $4  75. 
WRITINGS  AND   SPEECHES   OF    SAMUEL   J.   TILDEN. 

Edited  by  JOHN  BIGELOW.     2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges 

and  Gilt  Tops,  $6  00  per  set. 
MEMOIRS  OF  JOHN  ADAMS  DIX.     Compiled  by  his  Son, 

MORGAN  DIX.     With  Five  Steel-plate  Portraits.      2  vols.,  8vo, 

Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops,  $5  00. 

THROUGH  THE  DARK  CONTINENT ;  or,  The  Sources  of 
the  Nile,  Around  the  Great  Lakes  of  Equatorial  Africa,  and 
Down  the  Livingstone  River  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  149  Illus- 
trations and  10  Maps.  By  H.  M.  STANLEY.  2  vols.,  8vo, 
Cloth,  $7  50;  Sheep,  $9  50;  Half  Morocco,  $12  00. 

THE  CONGO  and  the  Founding  of  its  Free  State,  a  Story  of 
Work  and  Exploration.  With  over  One  Hundred  Full-page 
and  smaller  Illustrations.  Two  Large  Maps,  and  several  smaller 
ones.  By  H.  M.  STANLEY.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $7  50;  Sheep, 
$9  50;  Half  Morocco,  $12  00. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.  By  JOHN  RICHARD 
GREEN,  M.A.  With  Maps.  4  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50  per  vol. 
Volumes  sold  separately.  Complete  sets,  Sheep,  $12  00;  Half 
Calf,  $19  00. 

THE  MAKING  OF  ENGLAND.     By  JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN. 

With  Maps.    8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50  ;  Sheep,  $3  00 ;   Half  Calf,  $4  75. 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  ENGLAND.    By  JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN. 

With  Maps.    8vo, Cloth,  $2  50;  Sheep,  $3  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $4  75. 

A.  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  PEOPLE.  By 
JOHN  RICHARD  GREEN,  M.A.  Revised  and  Enlarged.  With 
Colored  Maps  and  Tables.  8vo,  Cloth,  $1  20. 


Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN.  Summer  and 
ter  Journeys  in  Sweden,  Norway,  Lapland,  and  Northern  Fin- 
land. By  PAUL  B.  Du  CHAILLU.  Illustrated.  2  vols.,  8vo, 
Cloth,  $7  50;  Half  Calf,  $12  00. 

CYCLOPAEDIA  OF  UNITED  STATES  HISTORY.  From  the 
Aboriginal  Period  to  1876.  By  BENSON  J.  LOSSING.  Hills' 
trated  by  2  Steel  Portraits  and  over  1000  Engravings.  2  vols., 
Royal  8vo,  Cloth,  $  10  00 ;  Sheep,  $12  00 ;  Half  Morocco,  $15  00. 

PICTORIAL  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  REVOLUTION ;  or,  II- 

lustrations  by  Pen  and  Pencil  of  the  History,  Biography,  Scenery, 
Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  War  for  Independence.  By  BEN- 
SON J.  LOSSING.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $14  00;  Sheep  or  Roan, 
$15  00;  Half  Calf,  $18  00. 

PICTORIAL  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  WAR  OF  1812;  or, 
Illustrations  by  Pen  and  Pencil  of  the  History,  Biography, 
Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  last  War  for  American  In- 
dependence. By  BENSON  J.  LOSSING.  8vo,  Cloth,  $7  00; 
Sheep  or  Roan,  $8  50;  Half  Calf,  $10  00. 

ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS.  Edited  by  JOHN  MORLEY. 
The  following  volumes  are  now  ready : 

JOHNSON.  By  L.  Stephen. — GIBBON.  By  J.  C.  Morison. — SCOTT.  By  R.  H. 
Button. — SHELLEY.  By  J.  A.  Symonds. — GOLDSMITH.  By  W.  Black. — HUME. 
By  Professor  Huxley.— DEFOE.  By  W.  Minto.— BURNS.  By  Principal  Shairp. 
^SPENSER.  By  R.  W.  Church.— THACKERAY.  By  A.  Trollope.— BURKE.  By 
J.  Morley.— MILTON.  By  M.  Pattison.— SOUTHEY.  By  E.  Dowden.— CHAUCER- 
By  A.  W.  Ward.— BUNYAN.  By  J.  A.  Froude.— COWPER.  By  G.  Smith.— POPE. 
By  L.  Stephen.— BYRON.  By  J.  Nichols.— LOCKE.  By  T.  Fowler. —WORDS- 
WORTH. By  F.  W.  H.  Myers. — HAWTHORNE.  By  Henry  James,  Jr. — DRY- 
DEN.  By  G.  Saintsbury.— LANDOR.  By  S.  Colvin.— DE  QUINCEY.  By  D.  Mas- 
son.— LAMB.  By  ,A..  Ainger.— BENTLEY.  By  R.  C.  Jebb.— DICKEXS.  By  A. 
W.  Ward.— GRAY.  By  E.  W.  Gosse.  — SWIFT.  By  L.  Stephen.— STERNE.  ByH. 
D.  Traill.  —  MACAULAY.  By  J.  C.  Morison.— FIELDING.  By  A.  Dobson.— 
SHERIDAN.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant. — ADDISON.  By  W.  J.  Courthope. — BACON.  By 
R.  W.  Church.— COLERIDGE.  By  H.  D.  Traill.— SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  By  J.  A. 
Symonds. — KEATS.  By  S.  Colvin.  12mo,  Cloth,  75  cents  per  volume. 

Popular  Edition.  36  volumes  in  12,  Cloth,  $12  00;  Half  Leath- 
er, $21  00. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  INQUISITION  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES. 
By  HENRY  CHARLES  LEA.  3  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and 
Gilt  Tops,  $3  00  per  vol. 


Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 


THE  MIKADO'S  EMPIRE.  Book  I.  History  of  Japan,  from 
660  B.C.  to  1872  A.D.  Book  II.  Personal  Experiences,  Obser- 
vations, and  Studies  in  Japan,  from  1870  to  1874.  With  Two 
Supplementary  Chapters:  Japan  in  1883,  1886,  and  1890.  By 
W.  E.  GRIFFIS.  Copiously  Illustrated.  8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00, 
Half  Calf,  $6  25. 

A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  COLONIES  IN 
AMERICA.  By  HENRY  CABOT  LODGE.  With  Colored  Map. 
8vo,  Half  Leather,  $3  00. 

THE  LAND  AND  THE  BOOK.  Biblical  Illustrations  drawn 
from  the  Manners  and  Customs,  the  Scenes  and  Scenery,  of  the 
Holy  Land.  By  WILLIAM  M.THOMSON,  D.D.,  Forty-five  Years 
a  Missionary  in  Syria  and  Palestine.  In  Three  Volumes.  Co- 
piously Illustrated.  Square  8vo,  Ornamental  Cloth,  per  volume, 
$6  00 ;  Sheep,  $7  00 ;  Half  Morocco,  $8  50 ;  Full  Morocco, 
•  Gilt  Edges,  $10  00. 

Volume  I.  SOUTHERN  PALESTINE  AND  JERUSALEM. — Volume 
II.  CENTRAL  PALESTINE  AND  PHOENICIA. — Volume  III.  LEBA- 
NON, DAMASCUS,  AND  BEYOND  JORDAN. 

Also,  Handsome  Popular  Edition  in  Three  Vols.,  Cloth,  $9  00 
per  Set;  Half  Leather,  $12  00.  (Sold  only  in  Sets.) 

THE  INVASION  OF  THE  CRIMEA:  its  Origin,  and  an  Ac- 
count of  its  Progress  down  to  the  Death  of  Lord  Raglan.  By 
ALEXANDER  WILLIAM  KINGLAKE.  With  Maps  and  Plans.  Six 
vols.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00  per  vol.  ;  Half  Calf,  $22  50  per  set. 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.  By  WALTER  BESANT.  With  a  Portrait 
hnd  Characteristic  Illustrations  by  Crnikshank  and  others.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $2  50. 

THE  TSAR  AND  HIS  PEOPLE;  or,  Social  Life  in  Russia. 
Papers  by  THEODORE  CHILD,  EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE  VOG^E, 
CLARENCE  COOK,  and  VASSILI  VERESTCHAGIN.  Illustrated. 
Square  8ro,  Cloth,  Uncut  Euges  and  Gilt  Top,  $3  00. 

THE  CAPITALS  OF  SPANISH  AMERICA.  By  WILLIAM 
ELEROY  CURTIS.  With  a  Colored  Map  and  358  Illustrations 
8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

JINRIKISHA  DAYS  IN  JAPAN.  By  ELIZA  RUHAMAH  SKIP- 
MORE.  Illustrated.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $2  00. 


8  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 

LIFE  OF  BISHOP  MATTHEW  SIMPSON,  of  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church.  By  GEORGE  R.  CROOKS,  D.D.  Illustrated. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $3  75;  Gilt  Edges,  $4  25;  Half  Morocco,  $5  25, 
(Sold  by  Subscription.) 

SERMONS  BY  BISHOP  MATTHEW  SIMPSON,of  the  Method- 
ist Episcopal  Church.  Edited  by  GEORGE  R.  CROOKS,  D.D. 

8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

LITERARY  INDUSTRIES.      By  HUBERT   HOWE   BANCROFT. 

With  Steel-Plate  Portrait.     Post  8vo,  Cloth  $1  50. 

CURIOSITIES  OF  THE  AMERICAN  STAGE.  By  LAURENCE 
HUTTON.  With  Copious  and  Characteristic  Illustrations. 
Grown  8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  50. 

STUDIES  IN  THE  WAGNERIAN  DRAMA.  By  HENRY  E. 
KREHBIEL.  Post  8  vo,  Cloth,  $  I  25. 

HISTORY  OF  MEDIEVAL  ART.  By  Dr.  FRANZ  TON  RE- 
BER.  Translated  and  Augmented  by  Joseph  Thacher  Clarke. 
With  422  Illustrations,  and  a  Glossary  of  Technical  Terms. 
8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

HISTORY  OF  ANCIENT  ART.     By  Dr.  FRANZ  VON  REBER. 

Revised  by  the  Author.  Translated  and  Augmented  by  Jo- 
seph Thacher  Clarke.  With  310  Illustrations  and  a  Glossary 
of  Technical  Terms.  8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

OUTLINES  OF  INTERNATIONAL  LAW,  with  an  Account 
of  its  Origin  and  Sources,  and  of  its  Historical  Development. 
By  GEORGE  B.  DAVIS,  U.S.A.  Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

CYPRUS  :  its  Ancient  Cities,  Tombs,  and  Temples.  A  Narrative 
of  Researches  and  Excavations  during  Ten  Years'  Residence 
in  that  Island.  By  L.  P.  DI  CESNOLA.  With  Portrait,  Maps, 
and  400  Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth,  Extra,  Uncut  Edges  and 
Gilt  Top,  $7  50. 

THE  ANCIENT  CITIES  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD :  Being 
Voyages  and  Explorations  in  Mexico  and  Central  America, 
from  1857  to  1882.  By  DESIR£  CHARNAT.  Translated  by  J. 
Gonino  and  Helen  S.  Conant.  Illustrations  and  Map.  Royal 
8vo,  Ornamental  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges,  Gilt  Top,  $G  00. 


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